Parallel Intersections
by Irena K
Summary: In which the space-time continuum is heavily abused and second chances are found. [6-18: Complete]
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: They belong to Aaron Spelling and Brad Kern. The squirrel bastards.  
  
Feedback: is a girl's best friend. Constructive criticism is, as always, actively encouraged.  
  
Question to dwell on: So if a writer kills a man off after character assassinating him for a season and half, should he really get away with it?  
  
Notes on historical accuracy: I've tried to remain as accurate as possible but being neither a native San Franciscan or an historian, I've muddled through as best I can. Some of the historical events outlined here have been compressed somewhat but occur in their original chronological order. The only purposeful anachronism is the existence of the University of San Francisco, which at the time was still St. Ignatius College. However, I needed a university in the role of Cole's school, so USF it is. If you catch any other glaring errors, though, please let me know so that it can be revised.  
  
Notes on chronology: There's some confusion surrounding Cole's age in regards to the events in 'Centennial Charmed.' I've decided to stick to his original canon dates (b. 1885) and assume he was born late in the year, making him twenty at the time of this story.  
  
Timeline: Canon up until 'Centennial Charmed.' Complete AU after that.  
  
Rating: PG-13. For language, violence and implied adult situations.

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PARALLEL INTERSECTIONS

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_The gods have not revealed all things to men since the beginning But by seeking, they find in time what is worthwhile  
_ -Xenophanes

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PROLOGUE

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Personally, Paige blamed Cole.  
  
This was a favorite pastime of hers, one that had begun long before his abortive marriage to her sister and which she saw no reason to stop now that he was dead. The two of them had never gotten along, although they shared the occasional moment of camaraderie when they forgot they were supposed to dislike each other. Still, any goodwill she bore toward him had gone out the window when he'd created an alternate reality where she was dead.  
  
In this case, she had a much more direct reason to blame him because that short jaunt to a world that could have been was the cause of her current predicament.  
  
Paige was fully aware that she was merely a replacement, a stand-in for a sister she'd never met. Destiny's own personal backup plan. If Prue hadn't died, she in all likelihood would still be at social services, maybe as an assistant, maybe as a full-time social worker, but certainly not as a witch.  
  
She believed her sisters loved her and she had come to adore her new-found family but there were still times when she felt like the understudy she was. Especially when she realized that the Piper in Cole's bizarre alternate world had shown more admiration for her abilities than her own Piper did.  
  
And, boy, did that chafe.  
  
Therefore, being unemployed and having more free time on her hands than she really wanted, she started up some projects on the side, expanding her magical repertoire. Minor things at first: restocking their potion supplies, reading up on crystal properties, indexing the Book of Shadows. Stuff she'd been meaning to do anyway. Then she started to get a little more in depth, cataloguing spells and exploring the theory behind them.  
  
That was when she discovered the hornets' nest of temporal magic.  
  
Her family seemed to have more experience with it than most. There had been jaunts to the past and visits to the future, not to mention her own sideways shuffle into an entirely different universe. And the more she read about it, the more it worried her. Every time you slid through time itself, you increased your chances of, frankly, fucking up the entire space-time continuum. Thus far, the Halliwells had squeaked by mostly through luck; their goal had been to fix someone else's mess rather cause any change on their own. Still, Paige was beginning to suspect it took an advanced physics degree to even begin to understand the theoretical implications, and by that point, you'd have learned enough to run screaming for the hills if someone even mentioned the words 'time travel.'  
  
And yet...  
  
There was so much to learn. Discovering spells that had been lost over time. Reconnecting with the roots she was only starting to discover. Maybe even figuring out a way to prevent someone like Cole from abusing his gifts again. And she wanted to learn something that was hers. She'd picked up some of Prue's unfinished work but it only reinforced the idea that she was a fill-in. She wasn't a natural spell-writer like Phoebe and she didn't really have that strong an interest in potions beyond learning the basics so that would always make Piper her superior in the study.  
  
This? She wanted to learn it, understand it, present it to her sisters and say, "See? I'm not just some screw-up who quit her job because she couldn't handle the pressure. I can do something. Something good." Even if her sisters didn't actually see her that way, Paige was starting to see herself that way and she was sick to death of dealing with an inferiority complex over a dead woman and a long bout of unemployment.  
  
Her research started to narrow her focus. The way she saw it, the major problem wasn't observing the past, it was affecting it. The last thing anyone needed was her killing a butterfly and setting off a chain reaction of chaos theory. No, what she had to do was figure out a way to remain a silent observer without running the risk of changing the past.  
  
Ironically, it was Prue that gave her the answer. Her eldest half-sister had possessed two major powers: telekinesis, which Paige had partially inherited, and astral projection, an ability to throw her mind outside of her body. Although Prue had mastered it to such an extent that she could use her astral self as a physical extension, it was the intangibility that primarily interested Paige. If she could figure out a way to modify that astral ability into a spell rendering the user invisible as well as intangible...  
  
Well, hell, this might just work.  
  
It was a wet Friday afternoon when it all came together. Phoebe was still at work and Piper had departed early to conduct inventory at the club, leaving the patter of raindrops against the roof as Paige's sole company. The spell ingredients were an amalgam of plants used primarily for travel and vision, although she'd been sure to include some lady fern for protection. Around her neck hung a small, finely cut piece of jasper, normally used as tool for visions of both past and present but here serving as her anchor to this time and place. God forbid she should be lost, stuck as an unseen, unknown ghost.  
  
Taking a deep breath, she sprinkled the herbs into a small cauldron, intoning,  
  
"Five minutes gone "What once had been "Let me observe "Without being seen."  
  
Bleargh. When she did present her findings to the other Charmed Ones, she was definitely getting Phoebe to write her a better sounding spell.  
  
She lit a match and dropped it into the pot. The plants ignited immediately, spewing out sparks and thick smoke. Rather than dissipating, the smoke continued to grow, enveloping the room and stinging her eyes. Paige shut them in response, sending a brief prayer to whatever deities might be listening that all would go according to plan.  
  
When she opened her eyes again, blinking back irritated tears, the first thing Paige noticed was that she had moved and now stood on the opposite side of room. Which was weird. The second thing she noticed was herself.  
  
Well, not her now. The Paige of five minutes earlier, still double-checking the correct measurements for her ingredients. The Paige of now grinned. "Yo, Paige! Earth to Paaaaaige!"  
  
Her past self gave no indication she'd heard anything. Mission One accomplished. Now to see if she'd gotten everything else right. She reached out as if to tap her other self on the back only to watch as her hand slipped right through her shoulder, no more substantial than air. Okay, that was a little creepy but also, when she thought about it, really kind of...  
  
"Cool."  
  
She spent another minute checking out her past self but quickly grew bored; after all, she'd already lived through this. Stepping back, she recited the return spell,  
  
"Leave the past now "For it is long gone "Return me at once "To where I belong."  
  
Paige felt a brief sensation of vertigo and could swear she smelled smoke before she abruptly found herself sitting once again before the smoldering remains of her spell. She reached out a hand to touch the rim of the cauldron and was delighted to feel the smooth, solid metal under her fingertips.  
  
An unqualified success.  
  
In the weeks to come, she would study the magic of time further, increasing her knowledge, growing more confident in herself and her abilities. But there was one important lesson she completely forgot.  
  
Pride always goes before a fall. 

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END PROLOGUE 


	2. Part One

PART ONE

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_When fate throws a dagger at you, there are only two ways to catch it: by the blade or by the handle_.  
-Chinese proverb

"Ash, check. Juniper berries, check. Laurel, check. Houston, we are clear for takeoff."  
  
This would be her fifth jump and the longest by far: a full century into the past. Paige didn't know if she was more excited or terrified by the idea. A bit of both, she decided.  
  
She'd meant to tell her sisters about this before, she really had, but she couldn't quite bring herself to share. This was her pet project after all, her baby, and as soon as she brought it to her family's attention, it would become communal property. She'd been an only child for far too long not to mourn that loss at least a little, even when she knew it was far safer to share the knowledge. Her brief experience as a double-D cup had nailed that particular lesson home.  
  
This would be the last time. She'd make like Quantum Leap and then she'd share with the rest of the class. That was a promise to herself and she'd always been a woman of her word.  
  
That word just wouldn't be fulfilled today.  
  
Fingering her jasper necklace, she used Piper's measuring cup to judge the quantity of ingredients. If Piper actually knew what her kitchen supplies were being used for, she'd throw a conniption. Speaking of which, they were running low on laurel leaves. Paige made a note to stop by the store later before the depletion was noticed.  
  
The mixture order was rapidly becoming second nature, her notes remaining as a mostly unused comfort by her elbow. She recited the spell (still stuck on that first lousy poem) and dropped a lit match into the pot.  
  
The familiar spark and smoke arose and she closed her eyes, waiting for the heavy air to overcome her. Odd, but it felt somewhat cooler this time. Why that may be, she couldn't say. Eh. Probably her imagination.  
  
When she opened her eyes, she stood in the middle of a cobbled street, the sounds of a bustling city all around her. She wasn't overly surprised; time travel was an imperfect transportation at best and the move through four- dimensional space tended to dislocate her from her starting point. She couldn't orient herself precisely but the ring of a trolley and a glimpse of the Bay reassured her she was still in San Francisco. And judging by the dress of the pedestrians, she's probably hit her target year as well.  
  
The call of a newsboy drew her attention. Walking unnoticed along the sidewalk, she approached from the side and bent down to take a look at the paper's date: April 1st, 1906.  
  
Damn. Three years off. She was sure she'd done everything correctly and she was close but still, she'd have to do some more research. God, was she ever getting sick of theoretical physics. And who thought she'd ever be thinking that? She'd nearly flunked physics senior year of high school; she couldn't imagine what Dr. Fleming would make of her now. Probably keel over from a shock-induced heart attack.  
  
She remained deep in thought as she stepped off the curb, heedless of traffic. Intangibility had its advantages and one of them was never worrying about getting hit by trains, planes, or automobiles. Or, in this case, a hansom cab speeding along at a brief trot.  
  
"Look out!"  
  
Something grabbed her arm and pulled, knocking her off-guard and off- balance. Tripping against the curb, she twisted to regain her step only to tumble to the ground anyway, bringing whoever had a hold of her down with her. There was a small, almost inaudible crunch then nothing but quick, sharp gasps.  
  
The sting in her palms told her that her intangibility had abandoned her. The jasper brooch lying inches from her face, unattached to anything, suggested that the clasp on the necklace had broken entirely. And a glance at her surroundings confirmed she was still in 1906. Paige therefore said the first thing to pop into her head.  
  
"Oh shit."  
  
"Pardon me?"  
  
She abruptly became aware of the other body still half-sprawled on top of her own. Left at a loss of what else to say, she asked," Could you please get off me?"  
  
"Oh. My apologies." The weight disappeared and she rolled over in a sitting position even though her scraped palms protested further movement. A masculine hand appeared in front of her eyes. "Would you care for a hand up, miss?"  
  
She followed the hand up a black-clad arm and onto the face of a man a number of years younger than herself, still caught up in the latter stages of adolescence. Tall but not quite filled into his frame, he wore a derby hat that mostly hid black hair and regarded her with bright blue eyes growing cloudy with confusion. A good-looking kid destined to grow into a handsome man.  
  
And he was suspiciously, terribly familiar.  
  
"It can't be!"  
  
The kid let his hand fall somewhat awkwardly and frowned. "I'm sorry, have we...met?" He seemed to notice her outfit of halter-top and Capri pants for the first time, leading him to a bewildered gape. "Or-or perhaps not."  
  
"Cole!"  
  
The kid looked to a young woman calling across the street. Paige's worst fears were confirmed when he waved in response. He turned back to the flabbergasted witch and touched the brim of his hat with another spoken "Miss," before beating a hasty retreat back to the girl who'd spoken. He left behind a Paige who could only reach the conclusion that the universe was playing particularly elaborate and cruel practical joke on her.  
  
Because, apparently, it looked like her life might just have been saved by a very young and completely clueless Cole Turner. 

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Cole dodged another cab before hopping onto the curb next to Lonnie. He greeted her with a light squeeze to her hand and chaste kiss on the cheek. "I thought we were meeting at the café."  
  
"I arrived early. I thought I'd walk and meet you half way." She glanced over his shoulder to where he'd left the strange red-haired woman. "Who was that girl you knocked over?"  
  
"I most certainly did not knock her over. It was the other way around, in fact."  
  
"Oh, really. A little thing like her?" Her tone suggested disbelief but the side of her mouth twitched as if she were trying not to smile.  
  
He sighed. "If you must know, she stepped onto the street without looking if there were a cab there first. I pulled her back and she tripped, that's all." Even as the words came out, something felt off about them. At the time, he could've sworn she had appeared out of thin air. He would suspect magic but he knew of no witch or demon that would dress in such a manner. Very strange, indeed.  
  
Lonnie seemed to be of the same opinion. "Those clothes...do you think she's from a vaudeville show?"  
  
"Perhaps. It might explain her revealing, erm, dress."  
  
His stumble turned Lonnie's twitching smile into a smirk and she looked at him slyly from the corner of her eye. "Unless she has a less reputable profession. Cole, have you been keeping another woman without telling me?"  
  
"Lonnie!"  
  
"Because I always assumed I was the only kept woman in your life."  
  
"Must we continue this conversation?"  
  
"If you have more than one, I should know so that we organize ourselves into a true harem. We'll create a plan to alternate nights."  
  
"That's polygamy."  
  
"Harem sounds much more exotic."  
  
"Let's go to lunch, shall we?" He pulled her down the street as she laughed, amused at his discomfort.  
  
Abelone "Lonnie" Ling was a fascinating study in contrasting culture. Brown, almond-shaped eyes and black hair recalled her father's Chinese heritage but her temperament was probably much closer to that of the Danish- American mother she only vaguely remembered. She lacked the shy, shuffling gait of most women in Chinatown but wasn't tall enough to look the average American girl in the eye. Possessing a surprisingly wicked sense of humor and a sharp temper, Cole never knew where he stood with her on any given day.  
  
He couldn't state precisely what attraction she held for him. She was pretty in her own way and often a pleasure to be around, but her inconsistent temper could drive him to distraction. Added to the oft-told warnings of the folly of becoming attached to a human, he was left floundering for an explanation.  
  
It annoyed his mother to no end. He certainly wasn't above seeing the attraction in that.  
  
"Oh! Did I tell you the news?" Lonnie linked her arm through his, slowing his normal stride down to a leisurely stroll that she could maintain without breaking into a trot.  
  
"What news is that?"  
  
"Madame Bodine has officially taken me as her apprentice."  
  
He stopped walking. "She did?"  
  
Lonnie practically bounced in place. "She loved the cheongsam I made for last New Year's. And she said if my technique kept improving at the rate it has, I could even become her partner in a few years."  
  
"Lonnie, that's wonderful!" Her excitement was infectious and he gave her a hug, easily lifting her off her feet. She made a strange sort of squeak, half surprise, half delight.  
  
"Cole, put me down!"  
  
He obliged her, grin unabashed. "You could make anyone proud."  
  
"Oh. Um, thank you," she said, her eyes turned away as if embarrassed by the compliment. "If that's true, does that mean I can finally convince you to be fitted for a decent sack suit?"  
  
"What's wrong with my other suits?"  
  
"Nothing, really, but you always wear the same coat." She tugged on the lapels of his frock coat. "It makes you look like an old man."  
  
He brushed her fingers off. "I happen to like this coat, thank you. It belonged to my father."  
  
"And my father could make a much more modern one for you."  
  
"Lonnie, don't."  
  
"Fine, fine. But don't think this is the end of it," she mock warned. "Anyway, if all goes well, I can move Papa by the end of the month."  
  
"I thought he preferred that part of Chinatown."  
  
"I don't," she said flatly. As if realizing how bitter she sounded, her tone brightened. "Besides, I saw a wonderful apartment just north of Market Street. Much larger and we'd both be closer to work. I can't see how he'd object. And when you get your trust in December-"  
  
"Wait." He frowned. "What does my trust have to do with your apartment?"  
  
"Well, nothing, I guess," she said, nonplussed. "Just, well, both our allowances will be increasing and I thought – I thought, maybe-"  
  
"Lonnie, I won't graduate until next spring, you know that." An old argument, one that sounded no better now than it did when he first made it. But the truth would only cause her to laugh and proving the truth would necessitate her death. He preferred this method of subterfuge.  
  
Lonnie, on the other hand, looked irritated. "Why do you always do that?"  
  
"Do what?"  
  
"Act so evasive. Every time I try to make any plans, you tell me it won't work or change the subject."  
  
"I do not."  
  
"You do."  
  
"I simply don't wish to make plans that have no guarantee. We're too young for any of our preparations to have much chance of success."  
  
"Too young? You turn twenty-one at the end of the year. I'm already eighteen. How is that too young?" Her eyes narrowed. "Unless it's simply me you have the problem with."  
  
"That's ridiculous."  
  
"You're afraid of what people will think if you marry a Chinese girl." She sounded at once both angry and deeply hurt. It was the most logical conclusion to make yet probably the one thing that had nothing to do with his reluctance to marry.  
  
"That's not fair," he said, tilting her chin up to look her in the eye. "What's more, it's not true. There were many reasons I was not engaged before meeting you and most still hold true. But I can assure you, none have anything to do with where you father might or might not originate from."  
  
She looked away and sighed. When she spoke, she sounded weary. "You're an impossible man."  
  
"I've been told it's part of my appeal."  
  
Her mouth twitched but she kept it firm in a pout. "Then you've been misinformed."  
  
He grinned and pulled her close, pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head. "Come. I have a lunch to buy you in celebration of your new position."  
  
"You have several lunches to buy me for causing so much grief." The light banter marked an end to the argument.  
  
"It's beginning to feel as if you're taking advantage of me."  
  
"Only beginning to?"  
  
"Touché."

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Paige was not going to panic. She refused to panic. It didn't matter that her pendant was broken or that her return spell refused to work or that she was stuck in the early twentieth century, she would absolutely not, under any circumstances, allow herself to panic.  
  
Oh, who was she fooling? Of course she was panicking!  
  
Her minor spaz-out started to draw notice from the other pedestrians (although it could've been her outfit causing the majority of the attention). Out of nervous, unthinking reflex, she orbed away to a more secluded spot, stumbling out into a nearby alley in surprise.  
  
The last time she got trapped in a time not her own, hadn't she lost the ability to orb?  
  
Mind refocused on this new and not unwelcome problem, she decided to test her power. Concentrating on a spot only a few feet away, she willed herself there. Reality disintegrated into a pale blue imitation of itself, as she literally turned into a group of intelligent balls of light. She could never properly explain the feeling, despite how accustomed she'd grown to it.  
  
The strange, but comfortable sensation was greeted with relief as she reformed at her destination. The powerful self-defense mechanism remained intact, meaning that her other Whitelighter abilities were probably also still hanging around. However, when she tried to call a piece of wood from a broken crate to her hand, it remained stubbornly where it was.  
  
Okay, this was just weird. Why would her Whitelighter power work but not her witch side? It didn't make sense. But dwelling on the problem did lead her to a plan of action.  
  
The Halliwells (nee Warrens) had lived in the same house in San Francisco for four generations. That would mean one of her ancestors was likely living at Prescott Street at this very moment if she had calculated correctly. If anyone could help her, it was her magically inclined relatives. And if she had reckoned wrong and they weren't living there, well, she'd cross that bridge when she got to it. It wasn't like she had many options.  
  
All right, so she had a plan. Go her. She almost stepped out to the street again when she realized she still wore quite attractive, but wholly inappropriate twenty-first century attire. She'd already possibly affected history by simply being here, the last thing she needed was to draw any more attention to herself. Therefore, clothes first, long-lost relatives second.  
  
Congratulating herself on her strategic abilities, Paige slunk off to find a convenient laundry line and steal some clothing.

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END PART ONE 


	3. Part Two

PART TWO

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_Suddenly he woke up...but he didn't know if he was Chuang Chou who had dreamt he was a butterfly or a butterfly dreaming he was Chuang Chou_.  
-Chuang Tzu  
  
Cole and Lonnie ambled in the direction of the Presidio, following Lonnie's idea to take advantage of the clear weather and her rare free time. Cole, no fool, decided this was indeed an intelligent course of action and remained in happy post-lunch silence, linked arm-in-arm with the girl at his side. Earlier argument forgotten, the day looked like it would turn out well.  
  
A young woman, head studiously bent and arms crossed against her chest, walked towards them. Though Cole shifted away to avoid her, the distracted woman still bumped into him. Her head jerked up.  
  
"Watch where you're – oh god."  
  
"Erm, hello, again," he said. It was undoubtedly the same woman he'd saved from the cab earlier, now wearing a more appropriate if ill-fitting dress. Her temper didn't appear to have improved.  
  
"Are you kidding me?" she said. Before he could say if he was or wasn't, she repeated the same question to the sky. "Are you freakin' kidding me?"  
  
Cole traded a bewildered look with Lonnie and wondered if perhaps the woman had more than just a bad temper and was instead disturbed.  
  
"Maybe – maybe we should go," Lonnie said, hand tightening on his arm.  
  
The redhead ignored her and continued to ask questions of the sky. "What did I ever do to you?"  
  
"I think that's an excellent idea," Cole said and the couple began to inch their way around. The redhead, finally noticing her victims' attempted escape, stepped right back in front of them.  
  
"Wait a second, where are you going?"  
  
"Miss, I'm afraid you have me confused with someone else," Cole stated as evenly as possible. She was clearly suffering from delusions and though he couldn't quite say what, something about her struck him as...wrong.  
  
"If only," the redhead muttered. "Look, and believe me when I say I'm never gonna live this down, but do you know where Prescott Street is?"  
  
Her pendulous swing between emotions left Cole struggling to keep up. "Pardon me?"  
  
"I'm lost, okay? The city's changed since, um, since the last time I was here and I got lost and yes, I'm deeply embarrassed about that, so could you please tell me where Prescott is so this conversation can be over with that much more quickly?"  
  
Before Cole could answer, Lonnie stepped forward and pointed to the correct side street. "There. Three blocks down, turn left onto Washington, and it's maybe another half mile until you reach it."  
  
"Oh. Well, thanks." The redhead looked nonplussed, as if she hadn't actually expected Lonnie to answer. She turned to follow the directions, stopped, then turned back toward Lonnie. "No, sorry, I can't let this go. Look, you seem like a nice, normal person and I don't think it's fair not to warn you about your boyfriend, here."  
  
Cole frowned. "Now, see here, miss-"  
  
"Hey. So not talking to you right now." She turned back to Lonnie. "He's not what you think. Nasty secrets, major dark side and let's not even get started on the trust you shouldn't be having."  
  
"That's enough." Cole interposed himself physically between the two women. "If you persist in harassing us, I'll call a police officer."  
  
The redhead responded with such a look of contempt that he couldn't possibly understand what he may have done to her to earn it. "Gee, only using the law when it suits you. What a surprise."  
  
Cole felt his anger fraying, just below the surface, calling up his demonic instincts. He'd already half-raised a hand, an electric charge pricking at his fingers and ready to form into a weapon at a moment's notice, when Lonnie stepped forward. She gave the redhead her most imperious glare.  
  
"I don't know who you are, but my life is none of your business," she said. "I think we'll be leaving now."  
  
Matching action to word, she seized Cole's arm and all but dragged him away, leaving the redhead to huff in angry indignation behind them.  
  
"Who was that woman?" Lonnie demanded after putting some distance between them.  
  
"I swear, I wish I knew." His temper had dissipated, but it left behind a profound sense of disquiet.  
  
"An unfortunate from an asylum, perhaps." The statement came out as more of a question than not. Cole gave her a tight smile.  
  
"In all likelihood. Just some poor, deluded girl."  
  
Whom he was trying to reassure, he couldn't say. But he couldn't shake the certain, dismaying knowledge that the red-haired woman knew precisely who he was. What he was.  
  
And the fact that he had no earthly idea how she may have come by such knowledge left him shaken indeed.

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Paige should've known her luck wouldn't last, especially since she'd barely been on speaking terms with it in the first place. The decision not to orb and walk home instead had seemed like a fine idea (no point in pushing her abilities when she was still unsure how far they could take her) but after her second – second! – run-in with Cole and the reckless risk she'd taken in warning the girl off, her mood had turned from pensive to sullen.  
  
Stupid time travel, stupid Cole, and stupid her for getting into this mess in the first place.  
  
It was with some relief that she started to recognize the neighborhood she now walked in. The city had changed a great deal over the course of the twentieth century, but the residential area around Prescott at least bore a passing resemblance to its modern incarnation. Her sense of relief grew when she spotted the familiar façade of the Manor, although at this point it was painted a sky blue rather than the maroon she was used to.  
  
She stood staring at it for a moment, debating how she should best handle the situation. What if her dates were wrong? What if there wasn't any help to be had? Then again, if she never found the nerve to walk up to the front door at all, those questions really wouldn't matter. She straightened her shoulders, took a deep breath and approached.  
  
Before she could even raise her hand to knock, the door swung open to reveal a middle-aged woman with graying brown hair.  
  
"You're late," the woman snapped.  
  
Paige blinked. "Uhhh..."  
  
"Oh, for pity's sake, girl, get inside. You look ridiculous." Before Paige had any idea what was going on, the woman had grabbed her arm and pulled her in, slamming the door shut.  
  
"Dear child, you have no idea the complete mess you've created by coming here," the woman continued, forcefully escorting Paige into the solarium and placing her in a deep, wing-backed chair. "The uproar in the community – oh, now, where's Betsy? Betsy!"  
  
A plain-looking girl in a maid's uniform appeared in the kitchen doorway. "You bellowed, ma'am?"  
  
The other woman glared. "If this were any other household, you'd be fired for that remark."  
  
"Then I count myself lucky I'm in this one, ma'am."  
  
"Hmph. I'd think your time would be better spent holding that tongue and taking out those dresses we purchased for our guest here."  
  
"Should I put on the tea afterwards?"  
  
"Yes, thank you."  
  
The maid, Betsy, nodded and left. Paige, reeling from recent events and the strange interplay between employer and employee, continued to sit, somewhat stunned, as the woman turned her attention back to the Charmed One.  
  
"So." The woman stopped and frowned. "Sit up, girl." Paige did so. "So, what in the world were you thinking when you created that spell?"  
  
This outright acknowledgement of her magical abilities snapped Paige out of her stupor. "Okay, time out. Who the hell are you and how do you know anything about me?"  
  
The woman sighed and gave her a look that clearly questioned her intelligence. "Your knowledge of your own cultural history is severely lacking, isn't it?"  
  
Paige narrowed her eyes. "I was adopted. And I'm not answering any questions 'til you tell me exactly what's going on."  
  
The woman seemed to stop short of rolling her eyes, resigned to the task of enlightening Paige. "My name," she said, "is Gertrude Mayweather. I belong to one of the more prominent San Francisco covens, although I'm not so active in it as I once was. However, I bear a certain talent for divination which was how I knew of your imminent arrival as well as your origins."  
  
"So, basically, you get visions."  
  
Gertrude looked a little insulted at the remark. "That does little to adequately describe the nature of my abilities. But if you so wish to oversimplify the issue, then yes, I 'get visions.'"  
  
"Wait, wait, wait. Your last name's Mayweather. I thought the Warrens owned this house."  
  
Gerturde frowned. "A New England family, correct?"  
  
"Originally, yeah."  
  
"Say 'yes,' dear, not 'yeah.'" Gertrude ignored the dirty look Paige gave her. "And presumably, yes, they will own this house in the near future. Since the covens have managed to establish themselves here, a witch has always owned a plot of land over this spot in order to insure the Nexus is protected. You do know about the Nexus, don't you?"  
  
Paige bristled at her tone. "Yes. I'm a not a complete moron."  
  
"That has yet to be seen. You've been mucking about in time. I can't possibly imagine what possessed you to do something so foolhardy."  
  
Paige sighed. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."  
  
Betsy returned at that point, bearing a delicate china tea set on a tray. She distributed cups to the two other women, leaving the tray to rest on a side table. "Anything else, ma'am?"  
  
"No thank you, Betsy."  
  
"Then if you don't mind, I have some business to take care of at the train station."  
  
"Ah. Go right ahead, then."  
  
Betsy turned and left once again. Paige blinked at her retreating back, still trying to wrap her mind around anyone even having a maid, let alone one that didn't seem at all shy about trading verbal barbs with her employer. Gertrude cleared her throat, drawing her attention back to the matter at hand. "Regardless of why you may have thought temporal magic was a good idea, you are here now. And it's most prudent of us to find a way to send you back before linear time is thoroughly thrown off-course."  
  
Paige looked down into her teacup, grimacing. "I already tried my return spell, but the jasper necklace grounding me broke."  
  
"Was this in the original spot where you first performed the spell?"  
  
"I did that in the attic here." Paige pointed above her head. "But I'm always displaced to another location anyway and it's never mattered where I've tried to recall myself before."  
  
"Hmmm." Gertrude took a sip of tea before setting her cup aside. "Was there anything unusual about the spell this time? Anything different?"  
  
"Not really. Although..." Paige paused, frowning thoughtfully. "My aim's usually a little off my target date but this time I missed by nearly three years. That's weird, isn't it?"  
  
"If I understand you correctly, yes, it may be. It had never happened previously?"  
  
"Well, it was the longest jump I ever made, so I thought that could account for it. But even so, the most I'd ever missed before was by a few weeks."  
  
Gertrude tapped her finger on chin. "Peculiar, indeed. I suppose it's possible you were caught in a ripple."  
  
"A what?"  
  
"I've never seen it personally, but I've read of it in certain spellbooks. A traumatic physical event that causes waves in the magical world. It could be you were caught in such a ripple, throwing you off course and stranding you in the wrong year. It could also explain your inability to return to your own time."  
  
"So what type of trauma could do that?"  
  
"Man-made, sometimes, if there's a war. More often it's a natural disaster: floods, earthquakes, destruction of that ilk."  
  
Paige often admitted she wasn't the swiftest person around but she did like to think herself capable of making some decent deductive decisions. And so it was the word 'earthquake' that sparked off a neuron that collided with another, then another and another until it reached one that bore a very specific date.  
  
"Oh my god." Her cup slid from suddenly numb fingers. "I know what it is."  
  
Gertrude's eyes strayed briefly to the fallen cup before reaffixing on an ashen Paige. "Know what, dear?"  
  
"The big traumatic event," Paige whispered. "On April eighteenth, three thousand people are going to die in the worst earthquake in San Francisco history."

.

.

.  
  
By the time Cole arrived at his mother's house early that evening, he had pushed the incident with the peculiar red-haired woman to the back of his mind, halfway convinced that she was indeed simply an unfortunate soul who suffered from some strange sickness of the mind. He handed the housekeeper his coat, asking, "Is my mother here?"  
  
"She's waiting for you in the sitting room, Mr. Turner."  
  
"Thank you. Be sure to turn down my bed. I'll be staying here this evening."  
  
"Yes, Mr. Turner, of course."  
  
Cole approached the sitting room with a certain amount of caution, a learned response to his mother's often strange behavior. After nearly eighteen years of her sole influence, he could still never quite tell what would earn him a reward or a reprimand.  
  
She sat on the chez-lounge looking toward the door as he entered. She remained there as Cole walked over, greeting her with a kiss on the cheek. "Good evening, Mother."  
  
"Cole." Elizabeth Turner, ever formal, simply gave him a small smile. She shared the same curly black hair and facial structure with her son but where his eyes were the color of sky, hers were an unfathomable black. Lines in her face and grey at her temples gave her the appearance of a woman in her middling years, though this wasn't any true indication of age. Like most demons capable of human form, Elizabeth was gifted with a lifespan measured in centuries and a youthful exterior. However, their return to San Francisco had required a subterfuge for the benefit of their mortal neighbors, accomplished by a simple glamour. When she stalked the halls of the Underworld, the glamour vanished and Elizabeth appeared as young and as powerful as ever.  
  
"What is it you wanted to talk about?" Cole asked.  
  
"Oh, not me, darling," Elizabeth said. Cole grimaced inwardly. His mother had an unfortunate habit of assigning him pet names depending on what affectation she'd decided to adopt. Recently, it was either 'darling' or, worse, 'dearheart.' "No, we have a guest."  
  
Cole looked to where she indicated and had to stop himself from starting in surprise at the man who melted out of the shadows by the mantle. Wearing a smart sack suit in black and bearing receding brown hair, he regarded Cole with small, shrewd eyes. Raynor. Leader of the Brotherhood of the Thorn and Cole's childhood mentor. "Hello, Cole."  
  
"Sir." Cole straightened automatically, hands falling to clasp behind his back. Raynor rarely came to the surface without cause and Cole had to wonder what would bring his one-time teacher here.  
  
Raynor, seeming to sense Cole's unease, chuckled. "Don't look so worried. This is purely a social visit to inquire after my favorite student."  
  
His words were meant to comfort but Cole knew him far too well to relax. "Of – of course, sir."  
  
"Cole, really, have a seat." Cole followed the request, though it really should have come from the owner or son of the house, rather than their self- satisfied guest. "How go your studies?"  
  
"Well, thank you."  
  
"University of San Francisco, correct?"  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"He'll make Dean's List again this year," Elizabeth added. It was at once pleasing to hear his mother's confidence in his abilities and rankling that she would assume the outcome of his studies two months before the semester was over.  
  
Raynor raised one eyebrow. "Oh, really?"  
  
Cole couldn't shake the feeling that Raynor was subtly mocking him. "Yes, sir."  
  
"Still planning to pursue law, then?"  
  
Cole, frankly, had no idea what he planned after graduation, though law sounded as good a plan as any. "Probably, yes."  
  
There was a moment of awkward silence, Cole staring straight ahead, his mother and Raynor staring at him.  
  
Raynor cleared his throat. "So, your mother's been telling me of this girl you've been courting."  
  
Cole barely stifled his sigh. "I can't say that surprises me."  
  
"Now, dearheart," Elizabeth said. "You know I only want you to achieve all you've been working so hard for. This affair is troublesome."  
  
"If I recall correctly, it was you who encouraged me to pursue it in the first place," Cole said, irritated. "'All the better to know the intimacies of humans,' was it not?"  
  
"Cole, really, I believe your mother has a right to be worried," Raynor said. "This girl is no one, a half-breed immigrant. Surely you could find someone with a little pedigree."  
  
"It is my personal life," Cole spat back.  
  
"One which you are dangerously close to destroying," Elizabeth said. "There have been some utterly atrocious rumors-"  
  
Cole gave a derisive snort. "Human gossip? Since when did you ever care about that?"  
  
Elizabeth's lips thinned. "They may be humans but they hold power. You know it's all that matters. You should be pursuing that and not some tailor's daughter."  
  
Cole rose. "I've heard enough."  
  
"Cole-"  
  
"No. I have been loyal – more than loyal to both you and the Source and have earned my right to keep any woman I so choose. I'd appreciate it if you would kindly quit meddling in my affairs!" He stormed out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Elizabeth stared after him for a moment before sinking back into the chez-lounge with a sigh.  
  
"Why couldn't he have inherited his father's taste in wine instead of his stubbornness?"  
  
Raynor shook his head, more amused by the family dysfunction than perturbed by it. "He's a young man out in the world. A little rebellion is only natural."  
  
Elizabeth shook her head. "Better we should never have come back here. At least when we lived in London, they had the good sense to recognize the separation of classes. Here the influence of the humans on him has grown most vexing."  
  
"But then, he'd be useless as an operative if he weren't so knowledgeable of them," Raynor pointed out. "I wouldn't fret so much. Certain events will see him return to the fold soon enough."  
  
"Do you know something I don't?"  
  
"Only that the Seers have been especially smug in recent days. Something big is coming."  
  
"Any idea what that might be?"  
  
"Not yet but I'm sure I'll ferret it out of them soon enough." Raynor smiled in such a way as to suggest that ferreting would involve a great deal of pain for whoever might be reluctant to share information. "Either way, now or later, Cole will come back. He can fight what he is for only so long."  
  
"I wish I shared your confidence."  
  
"He's your son, Elizabeth. No matter what his father was, our Cole is a demon through and through."

.

.

END PART TWO 


	4. Part Three

PART THREE

.

.  
  
_The gate of the subtle and profound female   
is the root of Heaven and Earth.  
_ -Lao-Tzu, Tao-te-ching  
  
The next few weeks passed in a blur for Paige as she received a crash course in Edwardian dress and etiquette that, despite her protests, included plenty of lace, trim, and more underwear than she'd ever worn in her life.  
  
"I don't understand why I can't wear what you're wearing," she'd said at one point early on, indicating the high-necked but loose black and grey dress on Gertrude.  
  
"I'm an old eccentric, dear. No one cares what I wear. Now quit slouching."  
  
She also had to learn the rules of having live-in help. The first time she'd tried to clear the table she'd received a hit on the head with a soupspoon from Betsy.  
  
"Ma'am, please explain to your guest that I am not an incompetent."  
  
"But-"  
  
"Leave it be, Paige. This is why I pay her."  
  
"Too right you do."  
  
"Ahem."  
  
"Too right you do, ma'am."  
  
"That's better."  
  
And when she wasn't being instructed on how to properly hold a fork, Paige was grilled on the nature of her spellwork and the solutions that may lay therein to getting her home.  
  
"So, if I got caught in this ripple effect, why didn't I land after the earthquake?" she asked. "Traveling backwards, I'd have run into that first."  
  
"When physical trauma occurs, the effects do not merely travel in a single direction. It acts more as a stone would when thrown upon a pond."  
  
"It ripples out in a circle with bumps and valleys. Get caught in a bump, end up in the wrong time."  
  
"Correct."  
  
"Okay, yeah, that makes sense. If it's in four-dimensional space, events wouldn't be constrained by linear time." At the slightly nonplussed look she received, Paige shrugged. "I've been reading a lot on quantum mechanics lately."  
  
"Ah. Hmm. Regardless, we will have to wait until after this earthquake of yours to send you back. Otherwise we run risk of catching you with another 'bump,' as you put it."  
  
"Fine by me."  
  
Of course, not all of their conversations revolved around Paige's inability to properly time-travel. Gertrude, she learned, had been a practicing witch nearly since birth and her knowledge of the Craft was almost encyclopedic. By questioning the older woman on some of the stranger and more obscure aspects of magic, Paige was at the very least able to fulfill one of her goals in exploring temporal magic in the first place: retrieving lost knowledge.  
  
"What I don't understand is why my powers only partially work in this time period. Wouldn't they disappear entirely?"  
  
"Your Whitelighter abilities – and you will have to tell me how your parents found a way around that particular peccadillo – are a part of you, much like your hair or eye color. Those are impossible to change."  
  
Paige failed to mention that in her time, it was pretty easy to change either, although magic wasn't normally involved (her particular alteration to a redhead proving the exception to the rule). "So my witch abilities aren't really a part of me. I don't normally exist in this time, therefore, they wouldn't be around for me to access."  
  
"Oh, they still exist, but not in the way you're suggesting."  
  
"I don't get it."  
  
"You tried to bend time to your will, Paige. And time, no matter our ability to manipulate it, doesn't take kindly to interference. It could not strip you of your Whitelighter abilities no more than it could change your eye color but it could affect the one thing that you tied intricately to it by reciting that spell: your own magic."  
  
"But I was told-"  
  
"Whoever told you that nonsense about your non-existent state was overcomplicating the matter. Magic, no matter the form, always has its price. This is the price you pay for temporal magic, no more, no less. Honestly, I would think you would know this by now."  
  
"Y'know, I've decided something."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"You're irritatingly self-righteous."  
  
Paige wasn't the only one with questions to ask. Although Gertrude claimed to want to know as little as possible of the future yet to come, it seemed she still indulged in her own curiosity and often inquired after Paige's personal life.  
  
"You worked? Professionally?"  
  
"Well, mostly as an assistant, but yeah," Paige answered, handing a stopped bottle to Gertrude as the two re-stocked Gertrude's potions collection. "Social work isn't glamorous, but I liked it."  
  
"Why would you work at all? Did your family fall on hard times?"  
  
"Uh, no, not really. Most women in my time work. Helps us maintain our independence."  
  
"If that's true, why are you no longer working? Have you married?"  
  
"Oh, God, no." Paige frowned, scratching behind her ear. "Being a witch just took up too much of my time. I figured I could still help people, just not at social services."  
  
"I'm not entirely certain I understand. I admire your dedication to the Craft, but I would think a young woman such as yourself would have some other interests in her life."  
  
Words that had been weighing on Paige's mind made her fidget uncomfortably when stated to her from someone else. "I'm a Charmed One. I don't have much of a life."  
  
Gertrude clucked her tongue and capped another bottle. "It all sounds like a very unhappy circumstance to me, but if you are satisfied with it-"  
  
"I am."  
  
"Very well, then. Hand me the laurel, would you, dear?"  
  
Two weeks after Paige arrived, Betsy approached Gertrude with a rather ornate looking envelope. Gertrude opened and read it, then made a small disgusted sound. Paige looked up from the thick Victorian romance Gertrude had leant her, privately relieved at the distraction from the florid prose. "What?"  
  
"Elizabeth Turner, in her usual manner of short notice, is holding a dinner party tomorrow night. I've been invited."  
  
Paige felt a chill run down her spine. It had to be a coincidence. "You're sure the last name's Turner?"  
  
"Yes, of course."  
  
"Is – she's not related to Cole Turner, is she?"  
  
Gertrude blinked. "Coleridge is her son. But however in the world did you know that?"  
  
"Oh, that's just great." Paige almost threw her book across the room but settled for slamming it shut. "You can't go."  
  
"Paige-"  
  
""No, okay? He's an evil, manipulative bastard and-and I am so sick of dealing with him! So, no, it's a stupid idea."  
  
A frown turned down the corners of Gertrude's mouth, making her appear even more severe than usual. "The Turners are a well-respected family in this city. I don't understand your hostility."  
  
"You mean – how can you be a witch and not know?" Paige shook her head. "He's a demon. Fire and brimstone and nastiness and in my time, he causes a helluva lot of grief. So, seriously, if you know what's good for you, you'll stay as far away from him as possible."  
  
Gertrude looked disturbed at this announcement. "Are you certain we're speaking of the same family? I find it hard to believe that Ben Turner's son could be a demon."  
  
"Well, half-demon," Paige allowed. "But demon enough to turn on you eventually."  
  
"This is most distressing to hear," Gertrude murmured. "Ben was a good friend to my late husband and his murder caused a great deal of grief to this community. It's difficult to imagine his little boy capable of any evil."  
  
"Trust me, he's capable of plenty."  
  
"Still, I hate to think..." Gertrude trailed off, her eyes narrowing. "You haven't, by chance, met him since arriving in this time?"  
  
Paige shifted her weight. "What does that have to do with anything?"  
  
"Possibly everything. And I take it by that response that you have."  
  
"Okay, okay, yeah, I ran into him. But I totally didn't mean to and it's sort of his fault I'm stuck here since if he hadn't pushed me, my necklace never would've broken in the first place and thanks so much for the reminder of how much I've already screwed up."  
  
"Right, yes." Gertrude nodded, then rose. "We're going out."  
  
"What? Why?"  
  
"You need a dress for tomorrow night."  
  
"Hey!" Paige got up herself. "Didn't I just establish the whole evil demon thing? Shouldn't you, I don't know, be making with the vanquishing potion instead of looking for frilly dresses?"  
  
"Not at all. If Coleridge is indeed what you say he is, killing him now would affect more than a century's worth of future history."  
  
"If you're so hot to preserve the timeline, then why are you even letting me out of the house? What happened to non-interference?"  
  
"The meeting between you and Coleridge has already created interference. And I doubt it was any sort of coincidence."  
  
"How can it not be?"  
  
"Because in magic there is rarely any such thing. Now get your coat. We have a dinner to prepare for."

.

.

.

Cole's student apartment occupied three rooms in a larger boarding house that served several students and a few young professionals. It was a modest place, little more than a glorified sitting room split to accommodate a small bedroom and even smaller bath, but it afforded him privacy he couldn't have at his mother's house. Especially when it came to illicit liaisons with a girl his mother disapproved of.  
  
Speaking of which, he'd been rather lax in his ministrations to said girl, hadn't he?  
  
Lonnie remained prone on her stomach, sated and satisfied after lovemaking. He ran his fingers down her spine, rousing her enough to squirm. "Stop that."  
  
He grinned. "Why?"  
  
"It tickles."  
  
"Oh it does, does it?" He increased the pressure and began to massage with his other hand until she finally gasped and flipped over, ceasing his movements by throwing her arms around him and pinning his hands against his torso.  
  
"You realize that now I can't let you go."  
  
"Who says I want to escape?"  
  
"Well, then, I guess I'll have to have my wicked way with you." And to insure there was no doubt of her ability to do so, she pulled him down to capture his mouth with her own.  
  
Before Lonnie, Cole's experience with women had been limited to the few demons that could look past the surface of a half-breed with human blood, their dalliances consisting of brief evenings of raging passion and empty beds in the morning. Those capable of human form he remembered as flawless beauties, shaped by magic into perfected female forms.  
  
By comparison, Lonnie was a patchwork of irregularities. Her breasts were small and hips narrow, giving her an almost boyish figure, and everywhere on her flesh he could find little traces of passing time. Here, a dimple. There, a mole on her hip. On her elbow, a light scar from a long-ago childhood injury and on her palms and fingertips, calluses from her work as a seamstress. Even today he could see a healing abrasion along one hand from some minor scrape or another.  
  
With demon girls, Cole had learned what to expect. Lonnie still occasionally surprised him.  
  
His hands roamed lower along her back, drifting down toward her upper thighs, when the chiming of church bell caused Lonnie to still. She broke off the kiss, eyes wide. "What time is it?"  
  
He counted the chimes. "A bit after six, it sounds like."  
  
"_Ai ya_," she swore, pulling away and rising. "I have to go."  
  
"But the situation had just begun to get interesting again."  
  
She grinned. "If my father had any idea of the nature of the interesting situations you get me into, we'd never see each other again."  
  
"I doubt he's so naïve to not know."  
  
"I think he'll remain silent." She batted his hand away from her chemise before he could steal it. "As long as I'm home in time to make dinner. Which I won't be if you keep trying to hide my undergarments."  
  
Defeated, Cole leaned back against the headboard and watched her dress, sitting up like a dutiful suitor when she presented her back to him for assistance with the corset.  
  
"You know," he said, pulling the laces and listening to Lonnie's small gasps as the garment tightened. "You never answered my question."  
  
"It was a silly question," Lonnie said.  
  
Cole frowned. "I was serious."  
  
"So am I." She looked over her shoulder at him. "Your mother despises me."  
  
"Of course she doesn't."  
  
"Cole-"  
  
"She simply has..." He searched for the right word. "High standards. Besides, I've already told her I'd bring you. She doesn't mind."  
  
Lonnie snorted. "Why do I doubt that?"  
  
"You don't understand. After my father died – please, Lonnie. She's only protective because she wants what's best for me."  
  
"By controlling everything around you." Lonnie rose, crossing over to where her skirts lay. "She's made it clear I'm not welcome."  
  
Cole rubbed a hand over his face, frustrated. "Why does this have to have anything to with Mother? I asked you attend dinner, not her."  
  
"At her house."  
  
"At my house."  
  
"I don't understand why this matters so much. It's only some minor dinner party."  
  
"That I'd like you to go to."  
  
"Why? There's no reason-"  
  
"Nine hells, woman, can't you ever just do as I ask?"  
  
Anger sharpened his demonic aspect, deepening his voice into a harsh yell far louder than he intended it to be. Lonnie stared at him in the silence afterwards, motion frozen and mouth open in a little 'o' of surprise. Before Cole even had a moment to mentally berate himself for letting his temper get the best of him, Lonnie was already hurriedly putting her clothes on with trembling fingers.  
  
"Lonnie." He spoke softly but she wouldn't look at him. "Lonnie, please."  
  
"I really have to leave," she said in a small, frightened voice.  
  
"No, Lonnie, wait." He seized her wrist, grimacing at the way she tensed under his touch. "I'm sorry." When she remained silent, he continued. "Truly. I should have better control of my temper. I say...stupid, hurtful things that I don't mean."  
  
She finally raised her eyes from the floor, looking at him with a solemn expression. "You scare me sometimes."  
  
He swallowed against a dry throat. "I don't mean to."  
  
"I know."  
  
"Do you – do you still need to leave?"  
  
Lonnie sighed, turning away again. "Yes."  
  
"All right."  
  
She finished dressing in silence while he looked out the window at the darkening sky. She was pulling on her gloves when she asked, "Does it really mean so much to you that I come to this dinner?"  
  
He blinked. "I would appreciate it, yes." His mouth twitched. "With you there, I'd actually have someone worth talking to."  
  
She shook her head in resignation. "I suppose I'll have to find something appropriate to wear, then."  
  
He couldn't help his smile. "You'll come?"  
  
"Yes, I'll come."  
  
And without another word, she slipped out the door. 

.

.  
  
END PART THREE


	5. Part Four

PART FOUR

.

.  
  
_She complains that men and gods must  
follow separate ways...   
grieves that once departed we go to   
separate lands_.  
-Ts-ao Chih, The Goddess of the Lo  
  
If the process of getting into the everyday wear of a typical Edwardian socialite had been unpleasant, putting on an evening gown was downright hellish. Not only had her underwear multiplied, but the corset Betsy squeezed her into was in serious danger of cutting off circulation.  
  
"Breathe in, miss!"  
  
"I am breathing in!" Paige grunted as the laces tightened. "You're trying to suffocate me!"  
  
"Don't be ridiculous, dear," Gertrude said as she walked in, elegant as always in a black dress with lace trim and short, gauzy chiffon sleeves. "That corset's hardly pulled in at all."  
  
"Says you," Paige muttered, pushing back Betsy's hands and escaping the maid's clutches. As she fumbled through tying the laces herself, she added, "And I still don't understand why I have to go. None of my witch powers work anyway. What exactly do you want me to do?"  
  
"As I've said, a connection may exist between you and young Coleridge. I'd rather observe you together than apart. Besides, after the manner in which you arrived here, I don't entirely trust you on your own."  
  
"I'm not some kid."  
  
"And I'm not the one who trapped herself in the wrong century, am I?"  
  
It was a little difficult to argue with the truth, so Paige turned her glare over to the dress she'd be wearing. It was the only one they could find on such short notice that would fit her with little alteration needed, a buttercream gown with split white ribbons over the skirt embroidered with roses. It might have looked good on someone else with different coloring and an appreciation for frills but Paige just thought it made her look jaundiced.  
  
At least her hair looked great.  
  
The ride over in the carriage was spent mostly in silence. Paige marveled over how quiet the city seemed without the constant rush of motor traffic. There remained something familiar in the layout and smells but the nature of the city itself was different, as if it stood on a precipice, waiting for the change Paige knew was coming.  
  
The Turner house was impressive enough to warrant a gated entrance and a footman greeting, a bit of Old World gentility intruding into the American frontier.  
  
Paige gave a low whistle. "Guess crime really does pay, huh?"  
  
"Whatever do you mean?" Gertrude asked as she ascended the stairs.  
  
"Well, it'd be paid through the demonic network, wouldn't it?"  
  
"I don't think so. Not unless Ben Turner's father built it by magic."  
  
"Oh." Cole had always had expensive tastes and his brief stint at social services had proven he didn't deal well in a constricting work environment. Paige always assumed it came from a certain amount of corruption caused by the Underworld network that could provide him with funds no matter how dirty or bloodstained they were. It never dawned on her that any of his money may have come to him through much more ordinary and human means. Judging by his familial home, it didn't come as such a surprise then that he'd never quite outgrown that bit of spoiled brat attitude.  
  
The house itself, though big, wasn't quite so large as it seemed. The vaulted ceilings and open floor plan – a sharp departure from the typical Victorian design of the other homes in the area – gave the illusion of a much more extravagant home, a sight compounded by the ornate furnishings in the drawing room into which they'd been ushered.  
  
As she found herself quickly surrounded by the elite of San Francisco society, Paige spent her first few minutes there smiling politely and restraining from saying too much, less willing to reveal a greatly altered vocabulary to complete strangers than she cared about in the comfort of the Manor. In fact, she was so concentrated on not drawing attention to herself she gave a start when she finished the rounds with Gertrude and ended up right in front of Cole and his girlfriend.  
  
"Coleridge!" Gertrude declared, greeting him with a kiss on the cheek. "You have been far too scarce in recent months, boy."  
  
"Mrs. Mayweather." Cole gave her a slightly strained smile, either embarrassed or unhappy or both. "I didn't realize you'd be here."  
  
"Miss one of your mother's gatherings? Perish the thought." She turned to the Asian girl standing beside him. "And who is this lovely young woman?"  
  
"Oh, Abelone Ling. Lonnie, this is Gertrude Mayweather. She's an old friend of my father's." The girl extended her hand shyly, seized up by both of Gertrude's. Paige noted with a twinge of jealousy that Abelone had gotten away with a loose but nicely cut gown that bore subdued embroidery along the box collar and split sleeves before draping gracefully to the floor. Why was it everyone else had mastered the elegance of Victorian excess and she looked like a stick of butter?  
  
"Abelone," Gertrude said. "That's Danish, isn't it? No doubt named for a grandmother?"  
  
Abelone blinked. "Y-yes. How did you know?"  
  
"I know a great many things, dear, most of which I will never admit to," Gertrude answered with a little wink. "Ah, but I'm forgetting my manners. Coleridge, Abelone, this is Paige Matthews, my cousin visiting from New York."  
  
Still slightly dazed from the force of Gertrude's personality, the couple at last noticed Paige. Abelone jerked in surprise and Cole made a small, strangled sound before Paige stuck out her hand and smiled her most ingratiating smile.  
  
"Charmed," she drawled. "I'm sure." When Abelone continued to frown and Cole sputtered, her grin widened. "I know. You're going to say you know me from somewhere but really, I just have one of those faces."  
  
Before Cole could recover enough to respond, they were joined by another woman roughly the same age as Gertrude. "Why, Getrude, darling, you've been hiding from me."  
  
"Elizabeth, of course. How silly of me." While Cole seemed uncomfortable by virtue of Gertrude being, well, Gertrude, there appeared to be genuine dislike between the two older women. Paige inferred the familial relationship between mother and son by resemblance alone, the similarity striking. The only real difference was in the eyes. Where Cole's were a sky blue that appeared deceptively innocent in his youthful face, Elizabeth's were an intelligent, glittering black. "Permit me to introduce Paige Matthews, my cousin."  
  
Elizabeth appraised Paige with a long, cool look, sending a chill down the Charmed One's spine. Paige had known a face-to-face confrontation would be inevitable once she entered the Turner home but nothing could quite prepare her for the power coiled neatly under Elizabeth's polished appearance. Her mere presence was sending all of Paige's Whitelighter instincts on screaming edge, making the act of merely smiling and saying "How do you do?" a difficult task.  
  
Elizabeth's eyes narrowed but she turned back to Gertrude without even acknowledging the younger woman. "Gertrude, darling, you should have told me you were bringing a guest. The table is only set for fifteen."  
  
"Well, I could hardly leave her alone, poor girl, not after traveling all this way. Though I might have had the opportunity to respond had I received an invitation earlier." The words were polite enough but there was no mistaking the hidden barbs coming from both women.  
  
"Of course, I do apologize for that. I admit, this little soiree was a mere whim, but one I hoped would bring a spot of color to the spring after such a long, dreary winter. I'll be happy to have Gerard arrange another setting. Cole." Cole, his eyes still darting nervously in Paige's direction, turned his full attention back to his mother. "Dearheart, the Adams have just arrived. Why don't you go greet them?"  
  
He gave Paige one last bewildered glance before smiling tightly. "Of course, Mother." He departed for the entryway, Abelone trailing in silent confusion behind him.  
  
"If you'll excuse me, Gertrude, I'll see to that setting, now." Elizabeth glided off, her skirts swishing with a haughty flip.  
  
Gertrude glared at her back. "You're quite certain she's a demon?"  
  
"No doubt at all," Paige said.  
  
"That's a relief. I feel far less guilty for disliking her so thoroughly, then."

.

.

.

The dining room was no less opulent than the rest of the house and the food was, admittedly, delicious, even if the meat was a little rarer than she preferred and she had to firmly turn down offers of wine twice. With something now in her stomach and her obligation to make small talk no longer enforced, Paige actually found herself relaxing a little. Despite Cole's presence, the evening wasn't so bad.  
  
It took her a few minutes to realize what exactly was being discussed at the other end of the table and when she began to hear snippets of it, she straightened, comfort slipping into disbelief. The loudest comments seemed to come from a bearded, rotund man sitting to Elizabeth's left.  
  
"The Sandlotters missed the point," he was saying. "'Course they aren't particularly bright – not many learn proper English, you know – but no denying they're hard workers."  
  
"Still, how can you bear to even step foot in Chinatown? Don't you fear assault by one of those street gangs?" a woman across from him said.  
  
"Everyone knows it's not much more than a breeding ground for disease and criminals," another man added.  
  
"Just makes the wages you have to pay them all the more reasonable." The bearded man held his thumb and forefinger close together to illustrate his point. It generated light laughter from his audience.  
  
It was...grotesque, a deluge of racist rhetoric disguised as polite chitchat by societal elite. Paige could only hope that being in the home of a demon would mean that this group who surrounded her were demons as well but even she couldn't delude herself that much. History all too often illustrated the tragic talent humanity had in harming those deemed different from themselves.  
  
Before Paige could open her mouth to protest, Abelone had pushed herself away from the table, the loud screech from chair legs halting all further conversation.  
  
"Excuse me," she murmured, rising. Cole placed a hand on her arm but she shook him off and fled the table. Cole spared a sharp, angry glare at his mother before following.  
  
There was beat of silence. Elizabeth smiled tightly. "You'll have to forgive my son. He's adopted the girl as his most recent charity project."  
  
That produced another round of laughter, although this time it was more strained. Paige, angered by the patronizing callousness, opened her mouth to challenge the statement. Gertrude gripped her arm tightly.  
  
"Not here, not now," the older woman spoke sotto voice. "See to young Coleridge."  
  
"What?" Paige had never thought Gertrude would be one to stand idly by while others were subject to cruel ignorance. "But they were just-"  
  
"This is not your time or place. Much as you may be offended on that girl's behalf, what is acceptable in polite society changes." It was a poor excuse, but not a wholly illegitimate one. "Go after Coleridge. Look upset and I'll make your excuses."  
  
Left with little else to do and disgusted with the company anyway, Paige did as suggested. She didn't look back as Elizabeth said, "Whatever is the matter with your cousin, Gertrude?"  
  
"A weak constitution, poor dear," Paige heard. "The fighting upsets her so. She merely needs some air..."  
  
The sounds of dinner faded as Paige stalked through the halls of the Turner estate, seeking out the boy who seemed intent on making her life miserable no matter what age or incarnation he appeared in. The more she thought about it, the more she was inclined to believe Gertrude's theory on her relationship with Cole. Too many coincidences in too short a time suggested something greater at work, though what its purpose was, she had didn't have the faintest idea.  
  
It didn't take her long to find Cole, despite her unfamiliarity with the house, mostly because he was in the middle of a heated and none too quiet argument with his girlfriend. Paige paused outside the door to the room they were in, unabashedly eavesdropping.  
  
"...all I am!" Abelone was yelling. "Something to upset your mother!"  
  
"You know nothing about me or my mother!" Cole sounded equally upset. "And you have no right to criticize her!"  
  
"Why? Because you're afraid of losing this twisted game of yours? Afraid I won't be your good little pawn anymore?"  
  
"As if you gain nothing from the arrangement! As if you aren't walking among society like you think you belong there!"  
  
The resounding crack of flesh meeting flesh greeted the statement and a moment later, Abelone came flying out of the room, never even noticing Paige. Paige hazarded a glimpse around the doorframe. Cole stood in profile to her, still rubbing his reddened cheek in a daze. His frown abruptly twisted into a snarl and with an inarticulate yell, he formed an energy ball and hurled it at a nearby coffee table, decimating it.  
  
Paige realized that this is what she had been waiting for all evening, a sign that despite his youth and seeming gentility, Cole was still the same old devious creature underneath, hopelessly irredeemable. Yet even as she stepped forward to lean nonchalantly against the doorframe – or as nonchalantly as one could in a dress and petticoats – she couldn't help feeling a little disappointed. Even after all this time, she still wanted to expect better from him.  
  
"Same old story with you, isn't it?" she said aloud.  
  
Cole whirled around, eyes widening. She looked pointedly at the blue sparks still dancing along the edge of his fingertips. "Plan on throwing one of those at me next?"  
  
He glared. "Who are you?"  
  
"An old acquaintance."  
  
The sparks pulled themselves into a small, tight ball, although his hand remained at his side. "You're a liar. I never laid my eyes on you before a few weeks ago."  
  
"But I did on you. And trust me, what I saw? Doesn't really impress."  
  
His hand rose, energy crackling. "I will only ask once more: who are you and why do you insist on persecuting me?"  
  
"Let's just say you're not the only one in this room who had a parent that wasn't exactly human." She raised her eyes toward the ceiling to drive home her point. He paled.  
  
"_Candida lux_," he whispered. "But I thought they were forbidden...!"  
  
Paige smirked. "Surprise!"  
  
She saw the tense in his arm just before he threw the energy ball and easily orbed out of the way, re-forming behind Cole and twisting his arm against his back in a move she learned from Phoebe. It wasn't something she really would've been able to do against his older more experienced self, but this Cole still had a tendency towards telegraphing his moves so loudly even she could see them coming. Locking him into position with her free arm against his throat, she leaned forward to talk into his ear.  
  
"Let me make this real clear: I don't like you. And if it were up to me, you'd be so much vanquished dust right now. Lucky for you, it isn't, but before you get any bright ideas, get it through your skull: you can't touch me. You can't hurt me. And you definitely can't get to me. But everything you do and say, I'll be watching. So unless you want a little wrath of the Almighty coming down on your ass, I suggest staying out of trouble."  
  
Before he could respond, she released him and orbed right out of the house onto the front steps. She took a deep breath of fresh spring air and grinned.  
  
God, but that felt good.  
  
Yeah, so she'd interfered. So she hadn't followed the rules. So what? What did Gertrude expect anyway? For the first time in weeks, she felt like she'd actively created change – one too long in coming in her not so humble opinion – instead of just sitting passively and letting others dictate her behavior. Maybe she hadn't affected anything in the long run or maybe she'd even made them a tiny bit worse but at least she'd given that bastard something stew over for a while. And maybe, just maybe, Cole would think twice about messing with her in another century or so.  
  
Having no desire to return to the hypocrites at dinner and seeing the night was lovely, cool, and clear, she decided it might be worth taking a walk before orbing back to the Manor. However, this plan was quickly derailed when she turned the corner outside the main gate and spied the figure huddled underneath the gas lamp. It took her a moment to recognize it but when she did, she paused.  
  
Abelone. And it kind of looked like she was crying.  
  
Paige sighed. She ought to leave well enough alone, but, well, crying caused by Cole. The kid deserved some sympathy from someone who could relate to the problem. "Hey. You okay?"  
  
Abelone quickly dabbed her eyes in an effort to compose herself. "I-I'm fine, thank..." The words died as she recognized who asked. Paige smiled.  
  
"That's the second time I got that reaction tonight. I must be on a roll."  
  
"I don't understand," Abelone said. "I thought – I mean the way you acted, it seemed as if you disliked us."  
  
"Dislike Cole? Oh yeah. You? Well, I question your taste in men, but no way did you deserve all that crap getting heaped on you at dinner tonight. Besides, boyfriend giving you grief? Totally obligates me to bond."  
  
Abelone blinked. "I have no idea what that means."  
  
"It means you need a fellow female to lend an ear while you tell me what a jackass Cole is."  
  
"He – he is not." At Paige's raised eyebrow, she admitted, "Well, sometimes he is."  
  
"See?" Paige said, slinging her arm over the shorter girl's shoulder. "Better already."

.

.

.

Abelone protested Paige even accompanying her home in the first place, but after Paige assured her that she (or, rather, Gertrude) could afford the cab fare and that there was very little that could shock her, Abelone relented.  
  
Abelone lived on the edge of Chinatown, a squat, cramped collection of buildings whose better days, if they'd had any at all, were years behind them. While Cole's home nestled among the residential estates of Nob Hill gave the impression of reserved grace, everything here suggested a concentrated effort to forget these people even existed. Abelone's apartment appeared in better shape than most but that wasn't saying a whole lot.  
  
Walking through the street level entryway, Paige noticed a worn but still legible paper tacked to the door. Something seemed vaguely familiar about it and as she traced the Chinese characters, she realized this was simply the latest piece over a pile of disintegrating paper.  
  
"What is this?" she asked.  
  
Abelone glanced at it and smiled. "A talisman. It keeps bad spirits out."  
  
A Chinese charm. Paige knew very little about magic practiced in Asia but certain commonalities seemed to crossover between different covens, regardless of locale. Whether this particular ward was actually imbued with any magic at all or simply the product of folk tradition, she couldn't say. It did make her wonder if Cole had ever been here to test it.  
  
Abelone's second floor apartment was miniscule, the kitchen and living area a single square room that had barely enough space for a table and cabinets, let alone the two of them. A short hallway by the gas stovetop led to two additional doors – a bedroom and bath, Paige assumed. The paint along the visible woodwork was all peeling and most of the tile work on the floor had come loose but there wasn't a speck of dust to be seen. A lot of effort had gone into making it a neat and cozy home.  
  
Abelone had only just placed her keys and handbag on the tabletop when a male voice called, "Abelone?"  
  
"_Zher, Ba_," Abelone answered. A middle-aged man stepped out of one of the back rooms. He said something else in Chinese and prompted a rapid exchange that Paige couldn't understand. Abelone at last turned back to the Charmed One.  
  
"Ms. Matthews, this is my father, Ru Ling. Papa, this is Paige Matthews."  
  
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Ling." She held out her hand which Run took in a gentle but firm grip.  
  
"Very pleasant to meet you, too." He had a thick accent but the words came out clipped and precise. "New to San Francisco?"  
  
"Kind of, yes."  
  
"You will like it here," he announced. "Very unusual city. Very interesting."  
  
"Papa." Abelone spoke in the tone of an amused but exasperated daughter who had heard the same speech many times over the years. Ru chuckled and patted her hand.  
  
"My daughter. She thinks I am a strange old man." He then said something in Chinese that sounded like a question. Abelone answered and he patted her one more time before returning to the back room. Abelone shook her head.  
  
"You'll have to forgive him. He can be a little...peculiar."  
  
"I can live with that."  
  
"Is there anything I can get for you? Tea, maybe? You've been kind enough to come all this way..."  
  
"Tea sounds great, thanks."  
  
While Abelone prepared two cups for them, Paige stripped off her opera gloves and set about making herself as comfortable as possible when still constrained within an evening gown. She managed to loosen the back laces slightly but after a few minutes of strained grunting, she gave up on reaching her boots.  
  
Paige broke the silence as Abelone distributed cups and saucers on the table. "Just out of curiosity, how did you and Cole hook up, anyway?"  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Well, no offense, but it doesn't really look like the two of you move in the same social circles."  
  
"But, ah, I don't think-"  
  
"Bonding, remember? So, spill. How'd you two meet?"  
  
Abelone didn't answer immediately. Instead she poured tea into each cup and settled into the chair across from Paige. She stared into her drink for a moment, tapping her finger against the rim. "He broke my dishes."  
  
"He – broke your dishes?"  
  
"Yes." Abelone smiled, small, nostalgic. "We were finally able to afford new ones and I was walking home with them when Cole took a corner too fast. The bag tore from my hand and everything shattered when it landed. It had been – well, I suppose it had been a very long day, so I began to cry. He looked so – so mortified." She laughed a little. "He promised to buy new ones just so long as I'd stop crying."  
  
"Interesting way to start a relationship." Paige took a sip of strong, bitter tea. "So what about him drives you nuts?"  
  
"Pardon?"  
  
"You know, what does he do that annoys you?"  
  
"Oh, I really shouldn't."  
  
"Please, you so should. He deserves it after this evening."  
  
Abelone frowned. "He calls me 'Lonnie.'" Her voice hardened. "I hate that name."  
  
"Why does he do it?"  
  
"He thinks it's clever. 'Lonnie Ling.' He never even asked if I liked it."  
  
"Does that a lot, huh?"  
  
"All the time!" The Chinese girl seemed to be warming herself to the topic. "He has these ideas in his head that he simply assumes I'll be happy to follow without question, yet every time I try to make any sort of plan, he never listens. And – and he snores!"  
  
Paige almost choked on her drink.  
  
"Not all the time," Abelone continued. "But when he does, it's awful. I'm surprised his neighbors haven't complained."  
  
"Maybe they have."  
  
"Well, if they haven't, they should." Abelone appeared much more relaxed, now that she'd finally gotten all of that off her chest.  
  
Paige grinned. "Feel better?"  
  
"Yes, actually, I do." She sounded a little surprised by that. She paused, then asked more quietly, "Ms. Matthews, may I ask a personal question?"  
  
Paige waved her on. "Sure, as long as you call me Paige."  
  
"All right, Ms. – Paige." Abelone tilted her head. "Why do you dislike Cole? He says you never even met before."  
  
Paige chewed on the bottom of her lip for a second, unsure how to respond. When she did, it was halting and carefully edited. "We have, but not directly. He...hurt someone very close to me, hurt her pretty badly. I guess after that I'm not really inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt."  
  
"I'm sorry. I-I'm sure he didn't mean to." Abelone sounded like she was trying to convince herself more than Paige.  
  
Paige sighed. "Y'know, the kicker is, when it all started, I don't think he meant to either. But he did anyway. It's just who he is."  
  
Abelone looked down at her tea, speaking in a small, tired voice. "He's going to hurt me badly, too, isn't he?"  
  
"Yeah," Paige murmured, unable to lie. "Yeah, he probably will."  
  
There was really nothing else to say.

.

.  
  
END PART FOUR


	6. Part Five

PART FIVE

.

.

_I certainly dislike death but there are things I dislike even more than death itself and so there are some hazards I will not try to avoid._

-Mencius

They scattered wards of every shape, size and style imaginable around the house. The highest concentration sat in the basement directly over the Nexus as insurance against any possible rupture while others were placed at strategic points along the foundation and support. Paige was fairly certain the Manor hadn't done very well the first time through the quake but Gertrude abruptly announced her intention to sell no matter what might come after the city settled once again, insuring the house would be available for the Warrens to purchase.

Gertrude and Betsy argued over the maid's obligation to stay. Paige didn't know the particulars of it but she'd heard the yells through the closed door of her second-floor bedroom. On the seventeenth Betsy left at Gertrude's behest, though by her sullen demeanor it was clear she still wasn't happy about it.

Afterwards, all that was left were the last minute checks and double-checks through the house as they braced themselves for the on-coming earthquake and prepared for Paige's departure shortly thereafter.

"So how exact do you think the timing has to be?" Paige asked. "Right after the quake or wait a few days?"

"It would be better for you to leave as soon as possible." Gertrude sighed. "But the farther from the point of disruption, the better your chances for success in getting back home. We'll wait."

"And you're sure we can get me back to my original leave time?"

"That's indeed the goal but nothing is ever certain." Gertrude paused, then said, "Paige, dear, I know you dislike discussing the possibility, but have you given any more thought to the matter of Coleridge Turner?"

"Other than the fact that he still treats his girlfriends like crap?"

"Good gracious, language!"

"Sorry." Paige tugged nervously on her earlobe. "Look maybe – maybe there is something to it, like he's a common element between my time and yours or something. But we still don't know what it is and that makes him a total X-factor. I muddled through without him there before. We'll just do the same thing again and hope for the best."

"Perhaps. I'll see if I can divine anything further. A solution may yet present itself."

"Okay, but I wouldn't hold your breath."

Gertrude shook her head. "I've learned in my old age that caution has never hurt when used judiciously."

.

.

.

Cole paced the length of the foyer, unaccustomed nerves making him restless. His mother had insisted he return home this evening, although he still didn't understand why.

The night of the disastrous dinner party continued to prey on his mind. He hadn't seen or spoken to Lonnie since then, though he was unsure who was avoiding whom. So many words had passed between them, too many to clearly separate truth from hurtful lie. Yes, certainly his relationship with Elizabeth affected the one with Lonnie. The very act of defying his mother surely had consequences, as was to be expected. He thought Lonnie understood that. Their affair was a mutually beneficial association, though he of course didn't think she only had what rights he deigned to give her.

Did he?

And that girl! The redhead, Paige Matthews. She displayed the abilities of a Whitelighter, which had to mean Gertrude was a witch. He felt an inexplicable twinge of betrayal; Gertrude had been a fixture of his young childhood, reclaiming that place upon his move back to San Francisco. To learn that she was something that killed his kind somehow hurt.

As for Matthews, he couldn't understand her. She swung between distracted girl to sneering elitist to avenging angel so quickly he had little time to catch his breath, let alone analyze her actions. Though she threatened him – and the ease with which she overcame him suggested she could easily follow through – she'd still let him go with a…what? A warning? A promise?

Cole couldn't say. He only knew that something had changed, that for the first time in his life he could see his future following two divergent paths. But where either led, he didn't know.

"Cole?"

He looked up as Elizabeth descended the stairs. "Mother."

She smiled. "Stop frowning, dearheart. It's unbecoming."

"Why did you want to see me?"

"You're certainly impatient today, aren't you?"

"Mother-"

"I think it would be best if you remained here this evening."

"What? Why?"

"Raynor gave me word. The Seers have seen trouble for this city and it's time to take advantage of it."

"What sort of trouble?"

"Better for it to be a surprise." She patted his cheek fondly. "Just know the chaos in the city will be fantastic when Chinatown falls apart."

"Chinatown," he repeated. "Lonnie lives there."

Elizabeth frowned. "You're still seeing that girl?"

"Why would you-" He halted, suspicion replacing surprise. "What did you do?"

"Absolutely nothing. I simply heard about that dreadful argument you two had."

"From who? There were no servants there and I never-" His eyes widened. "You did it on purpose."

"Darling, I have no idea what you're talking about."

He shook his head, certain now. "You _wanted_ to humiliate her, to create a rift between us."

"And if I did?" she said coolly. "There should have been nothing to create a rift between."

"It's my decision who I take to my bed!"

"It's your _duty_ to remain loyal to the Source!"

"And your loyalty to me?" He hated the way his voice cracked on the question, sounding weak and vulnerable. "What about your duty as a mother?"

"This _is_ me acting as your mother. You're allowing your human sentimentality to override your common sense."

The jab hurt as it was meant to, but it too easily reminded him of the gulf he was so tired of attempting to breach.

"My father was human, too." He curled his fists. "Or did you forget?"

She seemed to realize the tactical error she'd made because she reached out to him. He pulled back. "Cole-"

"I'm leaving," he said. He turned to walk out and so never saw the energy ball his mother threw at him, slamming him into the doorframe and knocking him unconscious.

Elizabeth stared at the still form of her stubborn, aggravating son for a minute before kneeling next to him. She brushed back the thick, black hair from his forehead.

"One day, you'll understand," she said, not unkindly. "This is for your own good."

.

.

.

On the morning of April eighteenth, Abelone awoke early as was her habit. Her father had already departed for his shop by the time she walked into the kitchen. She placed the kettle on the stove and took out a cup and saucer for her morning tea. She smiled as she saw that her father had already sliced two pieces of bread for her.

It was just as the kettle had begun to whistle that she heard the first rumble. At first she thought it might be the trolley but then of course she realized that was a silly thing to think since the trolley didn't run along her street. Then the earth beneath her feet began to shift and she fell to the floor as the rumble grew to a roar…

.

.

.

On the morning of April eighteenth, Paige slept. She didn't think she would get any sleep at all the night before but managed to fall into a deep, dreamless slumber nevertheless.

The initial shock bounced her out of bed and the jolt from hitting the floor woke her immediately. The house continued to shake as she scrambled for the doorway, fingers clutching tightly to the frame as she rode out the quake…

.

.

.

Cole didn't even realize it was the morning of April eighteenth when he came back to consciousness, sore, bruised and still a little dazed from his mother's attack. He was just noticing she'd moved him back to his bedroom when the shaking started. He struggled to his feet and barely made it halfway across the room when his heavy wardrobe finally fell victim to gravity and tumbled toward him.

He shimmered instinctively and stumbled out of it on the first floor landing, disoriented as the floor bucked and sent him to his knees once more. Someone called his name and he looked up to find his mother standing in the entryway, the front door open to the outside world. Despite the roar, he could still hear her question.

"Isn't it beautiful?"

.

.

.

The earthquake began at 5:12 am. It lasted for just over a minute and measured at 8.25 on the modern Richter scale. Shocks were felt as far away as Oregon, Los Angeles and central Nevada.

But that wasn't the worst of it.

Because somewhere a spark was struck, a match lit, a fire begun.

A city about to burn.

.

.

END PART FIVE


	7. Part Six

PART SIX

.

.

_Tomorrow I will sink into darkness_

_Like a wing-broken china bird_

_eternally_

_Falling toward midnight_

-Ling Chang, _Fall of the Moon Lady_

After an eternity, the world came to a rest. Cole didn't move immediately, not trusting the floor to remain where it was should he rise to his feet again. When it became clear nothing more would come, he stood.

The hall was a mess. What little had been displayed on the walls had fallen torn and shattered on the floor and the house itself bore large cracks in the plaster. A display table that had belonged to his grandfather lay broken on its side and the chandelier, wired only two years before, dangled precariously from the ceiling, sparks falling from split wires. Oddly, the first thought to immediately pop into his head was an annoyed _Well, this will be unpleasant to clean up._

He realized his mother still stood at the door, gazing serenely out toward the city. As he approached, far off yells began to drift in.

"Incredible," Elizabeth murmured, a smile gracing her classically beautiful face.

"What did you _do_?"

"Nothing." She repeated the word, then laughed. "The Source plans and plots and schemes and still nature causes more damage in minutes than He could hope to accomplish in a year."

His eyes widened. "This is what the Seers predicted."

"Most of it." Her smile grew at the first few wisps of grey, too dark to be clouds, began to appear. "Although, it behooved us to move while we could."

"A fire," Cole said, the realization sinking in. "You started a fire in Chinatown."

"Not me, no."

"But you gave the order. Tell me, did you actually set it in Lonnie's apartment or did you decide to be subtle this time?"

"And again your thoughts turn to that girl!"

"Because she has nothing to do with this!" A deepening voice and ripple under his skin warned of close change but he tightened his hold on his anger. "How I conduct myself in my personal affairs and how I serve the Source are not one and the same!"

Her hand flew out lightening quick and connected with his cheek, rocking his head. He dimly recalled that this was the second time in as many days that a woman had slapped him.

"You are a fool," Elizabeth spat. "You belong to the Source, mind and body. Just as I do, just as Raynor does, just as the entire Underworld is His to command. He would reward you so greatly for that and you want to do what? Throw it away for some _mortal_ who won't live past seventy?"

"I wouldn't throw it away! Why is it so wrong to save something from my duty?"

"What you seek to save doesn't exist."

"You had it with my father!"

"And look what happened to him!"

There it was then. Standing between them and forever twisting their relationship. He saw those paths again before him. One led back to his mother and the Source, to everything he knew and understood. The other followed a dark and unknown road, the words of a strange girl whispering in his ear.

_I'll be watching._

"It will never be enough, will it?" he said. God, he wanted to cry. But demons didn't cry. _Men_ didn't cry. "No matter what I do, it will never be enough."

"She's flawed, Cole," Elizabeth said wearily. "She is flawed and weak, just like all the rest, and she would turn on you eventually. She's not worth the price of destroying your future."

"Maybe not," he said. "But it doesn't really matter anymore."

He walked out the door. His mother tried to grab him but he eluded her grasp. "Where are you going?"

He didn't answer and though he felt an itch between his shoulder blades in anticipation of another energy ball, he didn't look back.

"Cole!" It was a command but with just the slightest hint of desperation. "You'll regret it! I swear on your life, you'll regret it!"

No attack came with the threat.

"You'll come back! You will _beg_ for a second chance!"

He dug his nails into his palms.

"You'll always come back! You can't escape what you are!"

She continued to yell until he was out of earshot but he focused only on what was ahead and plunged directly into the chaos of the panicking city.

.

.

.

Paige didn't bother with a corset or petticoat that morning. Gertrude would no doubt give her grief over it but she didn't care. She'd lived through a natural disaster; they were lucky she even had the presence of mind to get into a skirt and blouse.

Gertrude fluttered about downstairs, sweeping up the shattered chinaware and assessing the damage to the rest of the house. The extra prep work they'd performed seemed to have done its job but the walls bore cracks that hadn't been there the day before and a familiar-looking grandfather clock lay in a pool of splinters, glass and gears in the sitting room.

"What's the word on the damage?" Paige asked.

"Nothing that can't be fixed or replaced," Gertrude said. "Those wards you placed over the Nexus were most potent, incidentally. I can't imagine the damage its opening might have caused otherwise."

"Actually, I kind of think that's what happened the first time around."

"Well, I wouldn't fret too much. I had started to make plans to sell the house before you arrived. No doubt the earthquake would have simply accelerated the process.

"Now we just have four days of mayhem and five-alarm fires to get through," Paige said as she righted one of the tables in the sitting room.

"Yes, I'm curious about that. Just how extensive will it be? I hate to think we reinforced the house only to watch it burn to the ground."

"From what I can remember, the fire didn't get close to this area. Nob Hill didn't do so well, though. And Chinatown was pretty much destroyed." As soon as the words were out of her mouth, the location struck her. "Oh my God."

"What is it, dear?"

"Abelone." Paige's fair skin paled further. "Cole's girlfriend. She lives right down there."

Gertrude appeared to pick up her train of thought. "Paige, you can't."

"But she's a nice kid! She deserves the help!"

"There are many 'nice kids,' as you put it, in this city. Many will be harmed by today's events and by those over the coming week. You can't possibly hope to save them all."

Paige gritted her teeth. "I just want to save this one."

"And cause irreparable damage to this timeline. I don't mean to sound harsh but innocents die everyday. It is simply the way of life."

It wasn't untrue and Paige recognized it as such. Good people died everyday from disease or accidents or plain old bad luck and there wasn't a blessed thing she could do to prevent it.

But, damn it, she could prevent _this_.

"Screw it," she said. "I'm a Charmed One. If I don't at least try to help people when they need it, what the hell good am I anyway?"

And before Gertrude could stop her, she orbed out. The elder witch blinked at the spot where the other woman had stood just a second before, then sighed and looked heavenward.

"That girl," she said with a hint of a smile, "is impossible."

.

.

.

Paige reappeared a few blocks from Abelone's apartment, careful to choose a secluded spot from which to emerge.

Slow brewed pandemonium spread through the streets. The damage to the buildings and pavement was self-evident but the people outside looked dazed, shock no doubt delaying more dramatic reactions. That would soon be changing; only a few wisps of smoke could be seen above the skyline but in a few hours the entire area would be covered in flame.

She had to be careful now, not only of the pedestrians but of the hazardous path created by the quake and the aftershocks that still threatened. As she walked she couldn't help stopping and helping where she could. Here, a woman bleeding from her scalp sent on her way with a discreet spell. There, a boy trapped in a fissure thanking her for the rescue in breathless, rapid Chinese, intent understood if not the words. Yes, she planned this trip to rescue the girl she knew but there were those who needed her help that she _didn't_ know and her obligation to them was no less.

She was halfway there when a man turned a corner practically right on top of her. An all too familiar man.

"Oh come on! This is getting so old!"

Cole scowled. "What are you doing here?"

"Me? What about you? Hanging around just to enjoy the show?"

"I am not – no. I won't fight you again. Kill me, vanquish me, do what you will, but I don't have the time for a discussion."

"Where the hell are you going?"

"None of your concern."

"You better believe it is." She yanked on his arm but he pulled it away, expression now desperate on the edges of the anger.

"You're wasting time! I have a friend in trouble and if you are truly what you say you are, you would help me, not hinder me!"

Paige nearly blurted out _You have friends?_ before she realized who he must be talking about. "Abelone."

"Yes."

Well, wasn't this just peachy. "Fine, we'll go together. But you even breathe wrong and you'll wish you'd never been spawned."

Cole, either too tired or too agitated to argue further, nodded and they hurried up the street together.

The sight that greeted them wasn't encouraging. Half the building had collapsed under the weight of its neighbor, a taller complex which tilted crazily on its side and remained upright through little more than wishful thinking. The other half looked ready to fall at any moment.

Cole's face drained of all color. "LONNIE!"

For a heart-stopping moment, they heard nothing. Then, faintly, "Help!"

"Lonnie! Lonnie!" Cole scrambled around the debris. "Can you get to the window?"

A pause before tearfully, "My leg's stuck!"

He needed to hear nothing more, immediately running for the doorway. But the moment he reached the threshold something threw him back with such force he skidded to a stop a dozen yards away. He remained there, stunned. "W-what?"

Paige remembered and groaned. "The talisman." That answered the question of whether Cole had ever been inside Abelone's apartment then. Whoever had written on that paper knew their stuff but unfortunately the demon-be-gone was working a little too well. No choice then. "I'll get her."

Cole sputtered some protest but she'd already orbed. The interior of Abelone's kitchen looked as bad as the street below. Anything not tied down lay in pieces on the floor with Abelone herself trapped underneath the dish cabinet. More worrisome however was the smell from the broken stove.

Gas.

Abelone stared at her with wide eyes. "How-how did you-?"

"Does it matter? We've gotta get out of here." Paige tried to move the cabinet manually but it remained stubbornly where it was. She climbed around it and got a grip on Abelone's shoulders. The other girl stiffened. "Look, do you trust me?"

"I barely know you."

"Fair enough. Do you at least trust me to get you out of here?" The smell of gas was starting to make her light-headed.

Abelone hesitantly nodded her consent.

"Then hang on. This'll feel a little weird." Paige slipped her hands under Abelone's arms, holding on tight and insuring that Abelone wouldn't topple over once they rematerialized. The building began to shudder and Paige could feel the anticipated heat of the stove igniting just as the world dissolved.

They arrived behind Cole just in time to see the gout of flame explode out the window. Abelone's dismayed cry was drowned out by another rumble as the two buildings, unable to take any more stress, finally collapsed in on themselves. Dust and mortar flew and Paige yanked both Cole and Abelone to the ground, flattening out as the shockwave swept over them.

Paige remained still for a full ninety seconds, coughing on the polluted air and blinking back tears from the grit in her eyes. When no new disaster presented itself, she sat up, coughing but more or less intact.

Cole and Abelone knelt staring at one another, clothes and skin darkened by the dirt covering them, eyes on each other.

"Abelone." He spoke as if he couldn't believe she was actually there. She said his name in turn and then she was practically falling into his arms, the intimacy of the contact encompassing all the depth of emotion that could exist between two lovers. Paige looked away and felt awkward.

The couple finally pulled apart and Cole frowned at Abelone's torn skirt. "You're hurt."

"Not as badly as I would have been if Paige…" She looked at the redhead. "What _did_ you do?"

Paige shrugged. "Just a gift, I guess."

Cole's grip tightened noticeably around Abelone's waist but she didn't seem to notice. "Whatever it was, thank you."

"Not a problem."

"No, I – I – oh." Abelone paled. "Oh no. _Ba_!"

Paige didn't know what she meant but Cole did. "He wasn't at home, was he?"

"No, no, he left but if he was on the street during the earthquake – oh God."

"Your father?" Paige guessed. At Abelone's nod she placed a hand on her shoulder. "It's okay. We'll find him."

"We will?" Cole said.

"Yes, _we_ will," Paige said with a glare. "Or were you going to abandon your girlfriend because you had someplace better to be?"

Something unreadable flashed on his face for a second and his tone flattened. "I don't and I could ask the same of you."

"Think you could get rid of me that easily? Think again, Spanky. Come on," she said to Abelone more gently, helping the other girl to her feet. "We'll follow the path your father took to work and see if we can't find him, okay?"

Abelone allowed Paige to lead her without protest, murmuring directions to her in a dazed voice. And though Paige told herself she didn't care what Cole did one way or another, she couldn't help a small thrill of satisfaction when he, muttering dark curses against her, nevertheless followed.

.

.

.

The atmosphere worsened. Earlier it had been too soon for reality to set in but now horror had claimed the city well and good. Bleeding mothers screamed for their children on the streets outside buildings reduced to rumble on top of who knew how many unsuspecting inhabitants. Paige felt her gorge rise at the sight of two dead horses killed by falling debris, still attached to a sad overturned carriage.

Paige had been in San Francisco during quakes before but she'd never seen this level of destruction. The closest analogy in her experience had been the film footage from the Twin Towers seen half a world away in the soothing comfort of her living room. Here, she had been plunged for the first time into true destruction, raw and terrible.

She felt unaccountably cold.

And still no sign of Abelone's father.

By noon, Paige had to admit the chances of finding Ru Ling were pretty slim. Twice, they had to detour due to the spreading fire, and the general pandemonium made their journey not only slow but dangerous. Cole complained every time she stopped to assist those she could and Abelone, injured and tiring, grew more distressed. Paige, forced into the position of leader of their motley crew, at last gave up and called it quits.

"But my father-"

"Is probably fine." Paige had no good faith to make this assertion but Abelone needed the reassurance. "He was out pretty early and it doesn't look like he's on the street so he's probably at a friend's place or a hospital or something."

"But-"

"She's right," Cole said, startling Paige. "And even if she isn't, you can't continue like this. Your leg's worsened and you're exhausted. You need rest."

Abelone sniffed, holding back tears. "He's all I have."

Cole pulled her close. "I know. But he wouldn't want you to collapse trying to find him."

"What else can I do? My home is _gone_."

Cole looked helplessly at Paige, a sure sign of his own exhaustion that he allowed himself to look at all vulnerable. "I can't go back to my mother's." He didn't elaborate but Paige didn't really care. She sighed.

"Back to the Manor, it is." She placed her hands on both of them. "Try not to fidget."

She orbed them directly to the Manor's front hall, the house considerably cleaner than when she'd last left it. Gertrude was just walking down the stairs, a basket of bandages and ointment slung over one arm. She barely blinked at Cole and Abalone.

"You're late. Again. And for pity's sake, sit that poor girl down. She looks terrible."

Witch, girl and half-demon, all long past the point of questioning, merely followed the older woman into the solarium. Gertrude had been busy; a basin of steaming water and towels sat on one end table, a teapot and cups on another.

"I cannot promise anything served to you will be as fine a Betsy might make, but I sent her away until the city can straighten itself out," Gertrude said as she guided Abelone to the sofa. "And, Coleridge, cease hovering about the doorway and have a seat over there. You don't look well, either."

Cole followed the order but kept a suspicious eye on the elder witch as she eased off Ablone's boot and kept up a continuous, soothing prattle. "I'm sorry, dear, but I'll have to cut off this stocking. I'll try to find another pair for you upstairs. Paige, really, come over here and help. Goodness! Just look at this ankle! Coleridge, what in the world were you thinking, letting a young lady walk unassisted all over the city like this?"

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Mayweather."

"Hmph. As well you should be. You were raised better than that. Abelone, dear, I'm afraid this truly needs a doctor but I'll see if I don't have a splint for you in the meantime."

At Gertrude's exit, Paige took a good look at Abelone's leg. An ugly abrasion stretched from calf to knee from the fall she's no doubt taken during the quake. The greater problem lay in her ankle, already injured from the cabinet and exacerbated by their hike across town; it had swollen considerably and was colored an angry red that bordered on purple.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Cole demanded.

"I didn't really notice," Abelone said faintly. Paige didn't think that was untrue. She'd been through one hell of a shock then a considerable amount of distraction since.

"Dammit, Lonnie, we would have stopped! Instead you've just injured yourself further and-"

"Hey! Chill out, okay?" Paige snapped. "You're not helping."

"This is your fault as well! If you hadn't insisted on that fool's errand this morning-"

"Searching for my father is foolish?" Abelone said, sounding hurt and just a touch angry.

Cole stuttered. "That – that isn't what I meant."

"Oh please," Paige said. "If there ever isn't a time when you aren't thinking of yourself-"

"Shut your mouth."

Abelone rose to her defense. "Don't say that to her!"

"Lonnie, you have no idea _what_ she is."

"Stop calling me Lonnie!"

"Why? Because Matthews says so?"

"No, because she doesn't like it!"

"This has nothing to do with you!"

"THAT'S ENOUGH!"

All mouths closed as Gertrude strode back into the room, wooden splint in hand. She glared at each of them in turn. "I understand this has been a most dreadful day for all concerned but the three of you are behaving like ill-mannered school children. As such, you will either cease this nonsense at once or you will find other accommodations for the evening. Is that clear?"

She received three variations of "Yes, ma'am." Satisfied with their acquiescence, she knelt by Abelone. "I'm afraid this is the best I can do on such short notice, dear. Paige, make yourself useful. I'm sure you've received healing instruction at some point."

"Yeah, I-" Paige wanted to kick herself. "Um, actually, I may have a better idea."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Well, I can, y'know." She waggled her fingers. "Because of my father's side of the family."

"You possess that ability as well?"

"A little. I can't guarantee much."

"What ability?" Cole said. "What are you talking about?"

"Hush." Gertrude patted him on the arm. "This will help."

Paige knelt be Abelone. "Look, I don't want you to freak – um, be scared or anything 'cause this'll look a little strange, but I promise it'll make you feel better, all right?"

Abelone frowned. "Is this like before? In the kitchen?"

"Sort of."

The Chinese girl bit her lip and nodded. Paige placed her hands over Abelone's ankle and called out to that other gift of her father's, the Whitelighter power to heal. A soft glow suffused her hands and enveloped her targeted area. She was dimly aware of Abelone's small gasp but remained concentrated on her work, this talent rusty with disuse. When she knew she was incapable of giving anymore, she withdrew, flexing numb fingers. Healing, on the very few occasions she used it, always made it feel like her hands had fallen asleep.

She inspected the result. The cuts had scabbed over considerably and the swelling had dwindled, the ankle now a pattern of mottled yellow and brown bruises.

Abelone flexed her leg experimentally and though it was obvious she didn't have full mobility back, she looked pleased. "It's better."

"Yeah. I know it's not healed all the way but I'm not very good at it."

"Why didn't you do that earlier?" Cole asked. "Why did you let her go through the whole day in pain?"

"Listen, if you think you can do better-"

"Let's not start again, shall we?" Gertrude said. "Although, Paige, it is something you really should have thought of earlier."

"Whose side are you on, anyway?"

"That of practicality's."

"It's all so amazing," Abelone murmured, eyes remained fixed on her ankle. "My father used to tell me stories of healers back home, but I never believed it. I didn't even think non-Chinese could practice shamanism."

"Witchcraft, dear. That's what we call it."

"Witchcraft, yes." Her eyes widened and she turned to Cole. "Are – are you-?"

"Me? No!" He looked offended at the implication. It was so absurd that Paige couldn't help a snort of laughter. Abelone stared at her in confusion, which got her giggling all over again. Abelone slowly smiled before joining in. Cole's disgruntled expression just made them laugh harder. There was a tinge of hysteria to their reaction but it stemmed most primarily from relief. It had been a long day.

Gertrude shook her head. "Well, I doubt those two shall be of much use now. Coleridge, why don't you go ahead and start serving the tea."

.

.

END PART SIX


	8. Part Seven

PART SEVEN

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.

_A day of grief lasts longer than a month of joy._

-Chinese proverb

They stayed up late talking. Paige knew this because she'd heard their murmurs even after she'd gone to bed. Though it'd taken an earthquake to wake her up the night before, it was her own insomnia that had her watching the sunrise over a burning city this morning.

The two lovebirds had fallen asleep on the couch, Cole on his back, Abelone sprawled on top of him, dried tear tracks still evident on her face. Whatever they'd spoken about the night before seemed to have resulted in some sort of understanding between them if the way Cole held her hand even in sleep was any indication.

"Coffee?" Gertrude's soft voice drew her from her thoughts. She accepted the offered cup as the other witch settled herself on the opposite side of the window seat. She looked drawn. "The fire's grown worse, hasn't it?"

"Yeah." Although the sun had managed to shed some light below, black smoke hung heavy in the sky. "It'll be like this for a couple days."

"My city won't be the same, will it?"

"No."

Gertrude sighed. Paige didn't think of her as particularly old, but her current demeanor aged her. "Odd, but I think I'll miss it. Isn't that a strange thing?"

"I guess, but I get it."

"I'm getting too old to tolerate it." She smiled at Paige's disbelieving snort. "I know what you think but eventually it's true for all of us. I can't bear to watch a city I love change so utterly. Leaving is better, I think. Let the young people come and make a place for themselves."

"If it makes you feel any better, they will. I grew up here and it's a pretty great place to be."

"That's a small comfort then."

The view of ruin outside was growing painful to watch and so Paige found her attention drifting back to the subject of her earlier musings. Cole remained asleep under her glare though Gertrude noticed where her focus lay. "Perhaps I'm not the only one to dislike change."

"You never give up, do you?" Paige shook her head. "I'm never going to like him. I can't. Not after seeing what he's done to the people I care about."

"Even if the man you speak of doesn't exist yet?"

"He will eventually. I'll handle him now because I have to but don't ever think it's because I want to."

"And yet you seem quite familiar with him regardless. Was there never a time when you found common ground?"

_She'd screwed up big time. Hurt her sisters because she hadn't listened to them. Hurt Cole because he'd trusted her to protect them from himself. Instead she'd just made the whole situation worse, as Phoebe continued to not-so-subtly remind her._

_She didn't expect him to defend her.__ "Shouldn't you guys give Paige a break? She had good intentions, that's gotta count for something."_

_She blinked. "Thank you . I think."_

_He wasn't just talking about her and they both knew it, but he gave her a small encouraging smile anyway, a wry reminder that once upon a time, she'd found him a little attractive…_

"No," she said because little white lies were always easier than complicated truths. "And we never will."

They finished the rest of their coffee in silence.

.

.

.

The trail from yesterday had long since grown cold and Paige was at a loss as to where a middle-aged man who'd recently become homeless might go in 1906.

It was Gertrude who suggested the parks. "Surely the national guard has mobilized by now. Won't they organize camps for the displaced?"

Paige nodded. "Yeah, that's true. I know the Presidio definitely had a whole bunch of tents set up."

Cole frowned. "Set up when?"

Paige sighed. It wasn't worth explaining the whole _Back to the Future_ mix-up at the moment. "Never mind."

"I-I'm not sure he'd even be there," Abelone said. She added quietly, "They might not let him."

"Why not?"

"Because he's Chinese," Cole answered, as if that were the most obvious thing in the world. Which, Paige, supposed, it just might be in this time.

Paige decided this called for a deep and profound statement. "Racism sucks."

That just got her confused looks all around. Good. Now maybe they'd know how she felt.

"Is there anywhere else he might be?" Gertrude asked Abelone gently. "Any friends? Family?"

"All his friends live in Chinatown. I'm his only family."

"But the camps will have medical tents." Cole drew her to him, let her rest her head on his shoulder. "If he's injured, they couldn't turn him away. He's not a stupid man. He'd know that the Presidio or Fort Mason are the best places to go."

"And I could probably orb there without a problem. It's our best bet, really," Paige said.

No one mentioned the possibility of Ru being injured beyond the ability to go anywhere. No one dared.

Gertrude demurred from accompanying them and so it was a trio that arrived in a grove of trees off the main refugee site, hidden from curious eyes. They approached the neat rows of white tents already buzzing with activity as soldiers intermingled with the homeless, the injured and uniformed Red Cross.

It was a needle in a haystack.

That didn't deter Abelone. She approached every vaguely official-looking person to cross their path, inquiring as the whereabouts of a Chinese man called Ru Ling who might be looking for his daughter. Most shook their head in response. Some simply looked harried. Others made rude comments about her heritage. Abelone didn't react in any way other to thank them for their time and move on.

Paige, on other hand, muttered some choice spells at the more offensive ones. Nothing terrible and nothing that she believed would violate the premise of personal gain – it was, after all, in passive defense of Abelone – but they probably wouldn't be sleeping comfortably for a few days.

The situation didn't improve as the day wore on. They were directed to several areas segregated specifically for Chinese refugees but upon their arrival often found nothing at all or new camps set up for the rest of the population, soldiers there just directing them somewhere else. Frustration in all three of them continued to climb.

Paige was very close to calling a halt to that day's hunt when in one of the far camps, someone called Abelone's name. Neither Paige nor Cole heard the first time, stopping only because Abelone did. The call came again, then a third time. On alert now, they scanned the crowd around them, eyes out for a familiar face. Abelone finally gave a cry.

"_Ba_! Papa!"

She took off at a run for the Red Cross tent, nearly tripping over the hem of her dress as she collapsed next to where her father sat on a small, worn cot. Ru held her as she lapsed into Chinese, lined face breaking into a wan, relieved smile. It left Cole and Paige standing somewhat awkwardly off to the side.

"Do you understand any of that?" Paige said, head tilted toward the reunited pair.

Cole frowned. "A little. It's too quick for me to catch much. Why?"

"Just wondering if you were going to be of any use at all today."

Cole glowered but refrained from rising to the bait. By this point, Abelone and Ru were engaged in a rapid-fire discussion that had Ru sending sharp glances toward Paige and Cole every once in a while. He eventually turned to address them directly. "Mr. Turner."

"Ah, yes, sir." He appeared at a loss as to what to call the older man.

"You have been acting as a gentleman, I trust."

"Yes, sir."

"Good, good. And Miss Matthews, my daughter has been telling me most interesting things about you."

"Um, what sort of things?"

Ru smiled. "Good ones."

"Thanks. I think."

Ru directed another question at Abelone who shook her head at it. He said something else and tried to get up, agitating her further.

"What's wrong?" Cole asked.

"He wants to get up and go back to his shop, but he can't. Papa, you can't," she said back at Ru, gesturing toward the bandage on his forehead. "You're hurt."

"But the safe-"

"What safe?" Paige said.

"The one at his shop. It has the week's profits in it and bonds from the bank."

"I always repay my debts. And Qiu needs his pay."

"Papa, no. He wouldn't expect it of you." Ru tried to rise again only to be pushed back down. They exchanged a more heated conversation in Chinese before Abelone sighed.

"I'll go but Papa, you _must_ stay here!"

"Go? Lon – Abelone, you're not serious!"

"What choice do I have? We-we have so little left," she finished tearfully. "If we can save something, _anything_…"

"For all you know, the shop is burnt to the ground by this point."

"I hate to say it, but he's got a point," Paige said. "It's pretty risky."

"I don't plan on staying any longer than necessary. But I have to at least try. It's – it's important."

Cole stared at her in disbelief before rubbing a hand over his face and growling in frustration. "Fine. I'll go with you."

It was Paige's turn to stare. "Have you lost your mind?"

"Better I go with her than leave her on her own."

Paige protested again but Abelone just smiled. "It'll be fine, you'll see."

"Crazy people. I am surrounded by crazy people," the Charmed One muttered.

"No one asked you to stay," Cole said.

She glared. "Like I would trust you by yourself."

Abelone stopped just short of rolling her eyes at them. "Paige, you don't have to come. Cole and I can manage."

"You sure?"

"I can take care of her," Cole gritted out.

"You couldn't take care of a pet rock."

Ru frowned. "What is this thing, a 'pet rock'?"

"Abelone-"

"Paige, please, I need you to stay with my father. You can help more here." She waved hands in imitation of Paige from last night.

Paige took the hint. "Okay, okay. But he tries anything – and I mean, anything – you tell me so I can kick his ass."

"Excuse me?"

"I will." Before Cole could say anything further, Abelone grabbed his hand and started to weave back toward the south Presidio entrance. "We'll be back soon."

Paige and Ru watched them disappear back into the crowds. Ru turned to Paige. "You know, you do not look very much like a shaman woman."

Paige sighed.

.

.

.

Cole hovered anxiously outside the modest tailor's shop that more or less still stood miraculously intact. He'd explained some of his abilities to Lonnie – Abelone, he reminded himself, she preferred Abelone – the previous evening, although not how he had come by them. He had long believed in the advantages of practicality. In light of Paige and Gertrude's revelations, there seemed to be no reason to hide his powers anymore, especially if they could come in useful as the shimmer over here had so amply proved. Abelone's delighted grin at the demonstration was merely a convenient benefit.

He shifted his weight and glowered at the entryway. Another damn talisman had been posted there, preventing his entrance and forcing him to create some excuse about standing guard while a bewildered Abelone entered the shop alone. He might be ready to admit that he knew about and used magic but he wasn't even close to discussing his demonhood, threats from Matthews aside.

Bloody hell, how long did it take to open a safe anyway? The fire had driven most of the remaining residents to the refugee camps, leaving behind an eerily quiet city that, though he would never admit aloud, left him nervous. He silently willed Abelone to hurry.

A commotion up the street drew his attention. A group of men had turned the corner of the block and now yelled at each other in angry Chinese. As they began to run up the street, he could see they carried full valises and bore red kanji on the sleeves of their high-collared shirts. Cole read even less Chinese than he spoke but he recognized the significance of the character.

A tong, one of the brutal street gangs that roved through Chinatown. It appeared they'd seized the opportunity to loot some of the now abandoned shops, although their actions hadn't gone unnoticed. A second group of men in police blue followed. Upon spying their pursuers, one of the gang members paused briefly to turn and fire a revolver at the officers, causing them at first to scatter, then draw their own weapons.

A short, ugly firefight followed, forcing Cole to the ground just in time to avoid a stray bullet. He heard a shatter and then a rain of glass fell on his back and head. More yelling, a few more shots, then pounding on the pavement as the chase continued.

When it appeared that the majority of the action had moved up the street, he raised his head.

Abelone stood in the doorway, staring straight ahead.

"Abelone, you should get back."

Her head turned with strange, sluggish motion. She moved her lips but no sound came out.

Then she collapsed.

He scrambled over to her, turning her face up. At first he couldn't understand her sudden faint. Nothing was wrong with her except a small red stain on the front of her blouse.

And then the stain started to grow.

Blood. Too much. More on her back, soaking through to his hand, ruining her shirtwaist. Oh, she'd hate that, she always took such pride in keeping her clothes neat. How could this happen? She'd been inside, out of the way. She'd…

His eyes drifted to the shattered window. They followed the men fleeing along the ruined road.

Something in Cole Turner broke.

Bones shifted and cracked under sinew that stretched across rippling skin. Teeth lengthened into fine points. Blue eyes flowed into beetle black. The world turned red.

And Belthazor roared.

.

.

.

Paige paced. Abalone and Cole had been gone longer than expected and since she had little to do except sit around and wait, she paced. Because that's what a person did when they felt useless.

Ru, meanwhile, seemed content to chat with her. "Remarkable gift you have. Remarkable. My cut is almost quite healed."

"Uh-huh."

"When I was a boy, there was a woman in my village. She knew many strange things, like you. Her healing was not so – ah what is the word…immediate? Yes, immediate. But remarkable all the same."

"Uh-huh."

"She often taught the children little tricks. Not as powerful as anything she might create herself – that you must be born with – but little things. Some herbs, how to hold our prayer beads, how to protect against evil spirits. It has been years, but I have never forgotten."

It took a moment for his words to sink in but when they did she stared at him with new eyes. His level expression remained serene.

"It was you," she said. "You're the one who created that talisman."

"Yes. As I said, a little thing. I worry for my daughter. She never truly could find her place in the world. And Mr. Turner seems like a very confused boy."

"Wait. You _knew_ what he was?"

"That he could have a bad spirit? Yes. All men may, at some point."

"That's not what I-" She stopped as a rather remarkable and more than a little disquieting thought occurred to her. "Oh my God, if I hadn't been at the apartment…"

"There is nothing that does not have its mandate," Ru told her. He sounded melancholy. "No matter how much we might wish it otherwise."

"MATTHEWS!"

The yell came from a male throat, raw and desperate.

"MATTHEWS! HELP!"

Cole, no doubt about it. Paige fought her way through a suddenly buzzing crowd to the edge of the Chinese encampment. When she saw what had drawn their attention, ice gripped her veins.

Cole stood at the end of the row, Abelone in his arms. Both were covered in blood. Wide blue eyes locked onto her own.

"Help," he said hoarsely, legs buckling beneath him. Paige barely had enough time to ease Abelone to the ground before his grip loosened entirely and he fell to his knees.

"What the hell happened?" Oh God, the blood was everywhere. And Abelone. Her color was all wrong. No one should actually look grey. That was for stories and metaphors, not for real life flesh and blood people.

Cole grabbed her hands and pulled them over Abelone's chest. "Heal her."

"Cole, I-"

"Like before! Heal her!" His grip tightened, turning painful. Blood on his hands, now on hers. Could it all be Abelone's? No, no, he had cuts, too and a wound on his upper arm had reduced the skin to mangled meat. She averted her eyes before her stomach could completely rebel.

"Okay, okay. Just – just give me -" She unbuttoned Abelone's shirtwaist with trembling fingers to find the source of the problem. Not that she actually needed to see it to heal it but it helped to give her something to focus on instead of how still Abelone was and how manic Cole had become and had he done this? Was this some bizarre, insane trick of his, ha, ha, fooled you, Paige, see what really happens to anyone who dares to actually care about me?

The wound was a circular mark on the chest no bigger in circumference then in her index finger. Stick it in there and stop the blood from flowing, a dam held back by sheer force of will.

Guns weren't Cole's style.

And the skin was so cold…

"What is it? Why aren't you doing anything?"

She tried. God, she really did. But there was nothing left, nothing to knit together, nothing to call her forward. "Cole-"

"Stop wasting time! I know you can heal her! Why haven't-"

"Because I can't heal the dead!" She was crying, she realized. She'd barely known the girl but she'd seemed nice and it wasn't fair that she had to die no matter how many stupid platitudes people threw at her about fate or the timeline or whatever you wanted to call it because Paige decided that this entire situation fucking sucked. And fate was perfectly welcome to go screw itself when the one person she'd actually wanted to save was the only one she couldn't.

Cole pulled her hands back. "Try harder."

She tore away from him, more furious with herself than his desperation. "I can't! Don't you get it? There's nothing left! She's gone!"

"She's not allowed to be!"

The hit from above caught him off guard, head snapping to the side and remaining there in frozen shock. Paige looked up to find Ru, fist still curled and face as inscrutable as ever.

"It is time," he said slowly, "for you to go home, boy."

A penetrating silence. Even those watching outside the tableau remained quiet, breaths held and waiting, waiting.

"If-if you hadn't sent her out," Cole muttered, turning to Ru with carefully schooled rage. His voice rose. "If you hadn't insisted on that damn money-"

Ru abruptly dropped down next to his level, noses barely an inch apart and eyes steady on his. The sudden invasive proximity startled Cole into silence.

"You brought my daughter back and I thank you," Ru said with a quiet sort of dignity. "But there is nothing left for you here." He looked to Paige. It wasn't passivity in his expression, she realized now, but weary, crushing grief. "Take him home."

You didn't argue with a man who had lost so much. You couldn't. So Paige rose and, avoiding even a stray glance at the dead girl directly, placed her hands on Cole's shoulders. "Come on."

"Please," he whispered. What he meant – request, permission, prayer – she didn't know. She looked into the faces surrounding them, these people who had lost so much and bore so many scars that could not be seen, could not be measured.

She said gently, "We don't belong here."

.

.

.

Gertrude, for once, was shocked into silence at their reappearance. When she managed to pull herself together, all she said was "Coleridge, your coat's torn."

He fingered the black fabric, looking without expression at the ugly wound beneath it. "Oh."

"Both of you upstairs," Gertrude said. "The solarium's no place for this."

Paige spent nearly an hour in her room, at least half of that time at the washbasin trying to scrub dried blood from underneath her fingernails. By the time she was finished, the water was tinged a pale, sickly pink. What she really wanted was a pair of flannel pajamas suitable to curl up in but had to settle for a nightgown and housecoat.

A pang of tremendous homesickness hit. Yeah, the house was the same but her family was gone. She missed the squabbles and the insults and the sisterly bonding and her stupid inferiority complex. She missed hugs over bad break-ups and Tom Cruise movie marathons with Ben & Jerry's ice cream and a shoulder to cry on after a bad day left her feeling worn and years older.

Goddamnit, she wanted her life back. But today, at least, she wasn't going to get it. So, though all she wanted to do was collapse on the bed and sob, she left to find Gertrude and offer what assistance she could.

She found her still attending Cole in what would one day be Piper's room. He was much cleaner, wounds bandaged and arm in a crude sling. Gertrude finished taping a bandage on his forehead before looking at Paige and nodding slightly. She gathered her first aid materials and met the younger woman out in the hallway. Cole gave no indication he'd even noticed her departure.

"What in the world happened?" Gertrude murmured. "He said that injury on his arm came from a bullet."

"Probably did but I wouldn't know. I guess it was the same guy that shot Abelone."

Gertrude shook her head. "That poor girl."

"Yeah." Paige snorted. "Who knew demon-boy actually cared about her?"

Gertrude didn't answer immediately but when she did her tone was cool. "You know, dear, perhaps your problem isn't that you are unable to save those you deem worthy of the effort. Perhaps it is that you cannot notice those that need saving when they sit right in front of you."

"What – what's _that_ supposed to mean?" But Gertrude had already walked away. Paige scowled and looked back at Cole. He'd moved to stare out the window at the twilight sky but remained with his back to her.

She sighed. Like it or not, she wanted to know exactly what had happened to Abelone and the only one who could tell her was standing in that room. Squaring her shoulders, Paige marched right in and stopped beside him. She debated how best to broach the subject but before she could open her mouth, Cole spoke.

"You were right."

"What?"

"About me. You, Mother, Raynor, you were right. I'm evil." He said it without inflection, a flat statement of fact. "I left her alone." He tightened his fists. "I was so – so _angry_ at them for hurting her but I couldn't tell which one pulled the trigger so I had to kill them all."

Paige went cold. "Who did you kill?"

"The tong, the gang. Maybe some of the police. I don't really remember. I think one of them shot me. It didn't hurt so badly as I thought it would." His hand fluttered to the bandage on his upper arm and hovered there as though not quite sure what do with itself. "I had to leave her alone when I followed them and I suppose I left her alone for too long and she died. But I'm not sorry I killed those men. I'd do it again if I could. So, you see, you were right." He laughed, a dry, broken sound. "Only a demon wouldn't feel sorry."

Everything she had ever wanted to hear him say, this confession without the self-righteous justifications. It was what she had screamed at him for the better part of a year, insisting that he could never change, that what he was rendered him incapable of it.

So why did vindication feel so hollow?

When had she become this woman, the one who judged and found wanting all those she deemed inhuman? When had her priorities shifted from protecting the innocent to punishing the guilty? When did she forget that monsters were all too often created by the actions of human beings and ever so rarely born that way?

She had thought quitting her job would give her a greater chance to help people. Instead it had left her unbalanced, her grounding in the ordinary and all too real problems of the mundane world ripped away. She hadn't found her calling; she'd lost her compassion.

And frankly, she didn't much like what that said about her.

She shifted, stood directly in front of Cole and forced him to look at her. "Cole, listen to me. You're only evil if you choose to be evil."

"Don't you listen?" He shook his head. "I don't care that those men are dead. I'm-I'm _glad_ they are."

"_Cole_." The word came out as a command. "I'm not going to tell you that what you did today was right, because it isn't. And I'm not going to tell you that being half-demon isn't a big thing because it is and it's something you're going to have to deal with. But you're half-human too and that means you've got the choice to live your life however you _want_ to live it."

"But you said-"

"I was wrong, okay? Record the moment for posterity because I don't admit that often but it's one of those being human things. We make mistakes. We screw up all the time. But if we know it, we can fix it. Question is, are you willing to do the same?"

"I'm not human."

"Part of you is."

He shook his head. "No!"

She placed her hand on his uninjured shoulder. "Yes."

"No, stop." He tired to pull away but she held firm. "Stop doing this!"

"Doing what? For once, calling you out on what a bullshit excuse you keep giving me?"

"I'm evil, do you understand? Let me be!" The cry of a confused, bewildered child and God, she'd seen so many lost children in her time.

"And watch you can run away again?" Into the numb Brotherhood or impossible fantasies of reconciliation or the madness that would one day consume him. It had to stop somewhere. "Sorry, kiddo. Not happening."

"Please." Begging, desperate. "Stop."

"Stop what?"

"Making me feel." And this he spoke of as his greatest sin.

"Why? 'Cause it's hard? Because maybe you don't like what that means? Newsflash: it _is_ hard and you _won't_ like it." Both hands cupping his face now, eyes looking into his. "But that other way? The one where you can do whatever you want because you've given yourself the excuse that evil doesn't care? It's a cop-out. It's the coward's way out. And I've thought you were a lot of things but I never thought you were coward. You wanna prove me wrong?"

She saw him struggle, body tense and chest heaving in short, constricted breaths, but the inevitable was only held at bay for so long. His face completely crumpled and he curled into her, a few quiet sobs beginning to escape. Paige wrapped her arms around him and marveled: she'd never seen Cole Turner cry.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he said over and over. "I'm so sorry."

She said nothing, only held him as the boy she would one day know as a man clung to her and wept.

.

.

END PART SEVEN


	9. Part Eight

PART EIGHT

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.

_There is nothing that does not have its mandate._

-Mencius

The fire lasted for two more days. It spread over five hundred city blocks and decimated a two-mile long swath of the city, including the entirety of Chinatown. Added to the earthquake, it left nearly three thousand dead, over two hundred thousand injured and countless without homes.

No one was ever quite sure how many died in Chinatown or how many truly required emergency assistance. Years of prejudice and mistrust between the city at large and this immigrant population had made most Chinese wary of seeking state help. For the most part, relief was organized by and for the community only. After all, they'd been doing it for years beforehand anyway.

Over these days and those immediately following them, Cole left the house only once, to attend a service for Abelone. Paige chose to remain behind, believing her presence to be unwelcome. Cole's probably wasn't much appreciated either but he thought he owed a debt to the dead. Paige didn't disabuse him of the notion; a little guilt seemed healthy for him.

The rest of the time he wandered the Manor like a ghost, silent and haunted. He helped where allowed, mostly be shadowing Betsy upon her return. Unlike Paige's previous offers to help, Betsy didn't seem to mind. She gave him any busy work she could, seeming to intuitively pick up on his need to keep his mind occupied. She even managed to elicit a smile from him when she presented his newly clean and mended coat for approval. How the maid had ever managed to get the blood stains out, Paige would never know.

When Gertrude wasn't in the attic spot-checking their preparations for the temporal work, she was re-organizing the house or receiving professional-looking and uniformed visitors that were in charge of emergency services for the city. Paige was fairly certain a substantial check had exchanged hands.

Paige herself remained at something of a loose end. Mostly she just read over any of Gertrude's available spells and practiced her casting to keep her skills sharp. Sometimes Cole would come and silently observe her, but more often than not she was left alone.

A week after the earthquake, Gertrude approached her. "It's time, dear."

Paige changed out of her shirtwaist and skirt, corset and petticoat and slipped back into her light halter-top and Capris. She felt at once both liberated and vulnerable. Strange, the things one grew used to.

The spell was performed in the attic, Paige standing to the side while Gertrude actually cast it and Cole…

Well, she didn't really know _why_ Cole was there.

"So, explain to me again why he's here," she said, jerking a thumb in his direction.

"I was wondering the same thing," Cole said. The sling was gone but he still held his arm awkwardly, the scar permanent.

"Insurance. Regardless of whether or not Paige actually landed where she did due to your presence, I'd prefer not to take the chance of her being sent wherever your future self is residing at the moment. Hopefully, this should ground her to this particular location."

It sounded like just a touch of bullshit to Paige, but erring on the side of caution and all that, so she didn't object. Gertrude handed her a piece of jasper. "Now, be sure not to lose this one. I plan to create a temporal block to prevent anyone else from interfering with this time again and you won't be able to come back."

"Believe me, I don't ever plan on doing so." On impulse, Paige hugged the older witch. "Thanks. For everything."

Gertrude patted her on the back. "You're welcome, dear."

The two women separated and then Paige was left to stare at Cole. At a loss as to what else to do, she stuck her hand out. "Hey, I know we aren't friends or anything but, um, good luck."

He looked at her hand as if surprised at the offer. Slowly, he placed her hand in hers. "Best of luck to you, too."

They dropped physical contact as soon as it was convenient to do so. Paige flopped her arms against her sides. "Okay, oh great and powerful Oz. Send me on home."

Gertrude scattered the proper ingredients in her cauldron, Paige mentally checking them off along with the other witch. Gertrude stuck a match, murmured the spell and lit the mixture. Paige had just enough time to wonder if she'd heard the words correctly before the smoke bubbled over the edge of the pot, snaked its way across the floor and surrounded her…

When the smoke cleared, Gertrude looked with satisfaction on the empty attic.

"You always were the meddlesome one."

Gertrude smiled. "As if you were one to talk. That boy's coat was well beyond any normal repair."

Bright blue lights materialized out of the ceiling and pulled together to form an amused Betsy. "It was hardly personal gain."

"Did I say that?"

"Of course not. Perish the thought." Betsy looked around the attic. "I truly will miss this old horror."

"It's hardly old. Or a horror, for that matter."

"You weren't the one in charge of cleaning it."

"So, where do you think we should finally retire to?"

"Oh, I don't know. I've always wanted to see the Caribbean."

"Sounds splendid."

Whitelighter placed her hand over witch's. "You saw it all, didn't you? From the moment that girl arrived, you knew exactly how it was going to end."

"Now that, indeed, is a secret I will never tell."

Betsy shook her head. "At least you might have warned them."

"And ruin the surprise?"

Betsy laughed. "You never change."

"In the words of those who came before me," Gertrude squeezed her fingers, "blessed be."

Betsy smiled. "Blessed be."

.

.

.

"Are you sure she didn't leave a note?

Piper sighed as Phoebe paced. "I'm sure."

"So, where could she have gone? She'd been out for hours."

"Phoebe, seriously, why do you think I would know? More importantly, why do you think I would've found out in the five minutes since you last asked me?"

"Sorry, sorry. It's just – I'm worried."

"I know. Me, too."

Paige had definitely been working on a spell earlier, but Piper didn't recognize the ingredients. It was a strange combination of plants associated with, among other things, traveling, protection and clairvoyance. At least she now knew why her laurel kept disappearing.

Just what had her little sister been up to?

"No luck scrying?" Phoebe planted herself over Piper's shoulder to stare at the map of the city.

"Wherever she is, it doesn't look like she's in San – wait." The crystal at the end of the chain trembled for a moment, circled rapidly, then slammed itself onto the map. "Um, okay. It looks like she's…here?"

"Piper." Phoebe pointed toward Paige's used cauldron. It started to wobble, its movement growing in intensity until it shook so violently it knocked itself off the table. On impact, it shattered, spewing out smoke so thick for a moment it completely covered the attic.

"Phoebe!"

"I'm," coughing, "I'm here!"

Piper's eyes watered as the grey drifted apart, revealing her youngest sister sitting in the middle of the floor and looking a little dazed.

"Paige!" Phoebe practically tackled her. Piper joined in on the group hug somewhat more sedately. "Where have you been?"

"That's, uh – Phoebe, I'd like to breathe a little." The redhead coughed as her sister loosened her hold. "How long was I gone?"

"At least five or six hours," Piper said.

"That's all?" Paige grinned. "Boy, wait 'til I tell you what happened to me!"

"Matthews? Who are these women?"

A male voice certainly not belonging to Leo. Phoebe was the first to see him, face going to dead white. She practically choked on the name. "Cole."

"Cole? What?" Piper looked in the same direction and saw, to her shocked dismay, Cole Turner standing in the corner, appearing not at all dead. In fact, he appeared to be the exact opposite of dead, if somewhat more disheveled and thinner and….younger than she'd last seen him.

What the hell was going on?

Before she could raise her hands and activate her powers, Paige scrambled to her feet. "Cole? Why are you still here?"

"Me?" He looked confused. "I'm supposed to be here. Why are _you_ still here? And where's Mrs. Mayweather?"

"She's – oh that sneaky, little – I'm gonna kill her."

"Excuse me?" Piper said. "Would someone care to explain what's going on here?"

"Why isn't he dead?" Phoebe spat, glaring at her ex-husband. "You told me he was dead."

Cole blinked. "I'm sorry, miss. Have we met?"

"It's another trick, isn't it? Another one of your goddamn-"

"Phoebe, whoa, it's not a trick. It's, well, it's my fuck-up." Paige rubbed her temples. "Everyone just sit down and try not to kill each other for a couple minutes. This is going to be a looooong story…"

.

.

END PART EIGHT


	10. Epilogue

EPILOGUE

.

.

_Is humanity something far away?_

_If I want to be humane, then humanity has already been attained_

-Confucius

"What I don't understand," Piper said. "Is if Cole essentially disappeared after 1906, then why do I still remember him?"

Leo straightened his corner of the sheet and tucked it under the mattress. "Separate quantum realities." At his wife's blank stare, he clarified. "As soon as Paige arrived in the past, she created a parallel timeline. Her quantum signature is still tied to her place of origin so that's why she was able to come back here and drag Cole through. But somewhere out there there's an alternate universe where he vanished completely."

"God, I hate time travel." Piper sat on the newly made bed and frowned. "And since when did you get so knowledgeable about this quantum whatever business?"

Leo coughed, coloring slightly. "I borrowed a book on theoretical physics from Paige."

"Theoretical physics and Paige. Whoever thought those words would be used in the same sentence?"

"A lot has changed."

"Truer words have never been spoken." He placed an arm around her and she leaned into his shoulder. "What did the Elders think about it anyway?"

"They aren't happy-"

"So what else is new?"

"-but there isn't anything they can do about it. The temporal ward Gertrude Mayweather created is pretty impressive. No one's getting past it." He paused, then asked, "How's Phoebe dealing?"

"She isn't. I don't think she's spoken to Paige in a week."

"Ouch. Do you think things would improve if we found someplace else for Cole to stay?"

"And kick him out into a world he's a century out of date for? I have my issues but I don't think I'm that vindictive."

Leo rubbed her shoulder. "So how are _you_ dealing?"

Piper sighed. "It's weird. I know what he's capable of and I know how badly he's hurt this family. And it's not like he's suddenly stopped being a half-demon. That'll always make him dangerous."

"I sense a 'but' coming."

"And what a nice butt you do have, honey."

"Piper."

"Sorry. Buuut, I don't know, he's not the same. For one thing, he's polite. Like, scary polite. He keeps calling me Mrs. Halliwell and asking if someone in my 'delicate condition' should get more help around the house."

Leo chuckled. "Welcome to the world of nineteenth-century etiquette."

"The rest of the time he just wanders around looking like a kicked puppy. Which is not at all the natural order of things." She sighed. "He's a _kid_, Leo. I couldn't even serve him at P3. How am I supposed to hate someone for something they haven't done yet? Or, well, they have, but definitely not from their point of view. Did I mention I hate time travel?"

"Once or twice."

"I guess what I'm saying is I don't know what to do."

"You'll figure something out." He kissed her on the forehead. "You always do."

.

.

.

Some things never changed.

She found him sitting on the steps across from his father's tomb. He'd borrowed clothes from Leo, a pair of khakis and white oxford shirt that hung loosely on a frame not yet filled out. Over top, he wore his frock coat, one the few things remaining with him that he could claim as his own.

"Hey," Paige said.

"How did you find me?" Cole asked.

She smiled as she took a seat next to him. "Easy. You always come here when you want to sulk."

"How did you – I do _not_ sulk."

"Sure you don't. This why you're using this unseasonably sunny day to sit in a drafty mausoleum."

He sighed and wrapped his arms around his knees. "I belong here, don't I?"

"Not unless you're dead."

"Your sister said I was."

"Yeah, about Phoebe. Don't mind her. She just had some issues with the other you. She'll come around."

Cole snorted. "She's furious with you, too."

"More than a little," Paige admitted. "But, hey, I'm her sister. She's gotta forgive me eventually."

The silence stretched out between them. Paige felt no need to rush the dialogue. Cole would speak when he was ready.

"This is the only place I know," he murmured.

"What do you mean?"

"It's the only thing that's the same. Everything else is gone. I don't know this city anymore."

"I can sympathize." At his tilt of the head, she said, "I've lived in San Francisco my entire life. Do you have any idea how embarrassing it was to ask you directions to my own house?"

His mouth twitched slightly. "Yes."

"Gee, thanks." She turned more serious. "We haven't given up, you know. We might still be able to get through Gertrude's block."

"I know." His smile turned sad. "But you're probably not going to, are you?"

"Maybe not. So what? So things didn't go as planned. Why not use this opportunity? You've – you've got a chance here. Not a second one, a – a _first_ one to see this whole wide world, possibilities you never even thought of before. Why not seize it for all it's worth?"

"And if I just make the same mistakes as before?"

"Then you do and that's that but at least it'll be _you_ making them. Like I told you, it's all about choice. And you can either choose to go out and enjoy this extremely fine day or you can choose to stay here, alone, with a bunch of dead people. Me?" She rose. "I choose to take a little drive over to Golden Gate Park so that I can have a picnic lunch."

She was halfway out the door when he called to her. She couldn't help a grin as she turned. He stood up and brushed the dust off his pants.

"Wait. I'll go with you."

.

.

.

END PARALLEL INTERSECTIONS

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.

.

.

YIN AND YANG:

_Acknowledgements and historical notes_

Thanks to Val. Self-declared fangirl and all-around groovy beta.

Thanks to Mandolin. Fellow lover of funky crossovers and also a groovy beta.

Thanks to Jaina. It's done. Stop bugging me about it.

Thanks to all my reviewers. The feedback was wonderful and really did help keep me going. Me and my newly inflated ego appreciate it.

This was an incredibly difficult story to write, not the least of which was the historical aspect. Strictly speaking, someone like Abelone was unlikely to exist during the period in question. Her parents wouldn't have been allowed to marry due to anti-miscegenation laws. Her education would have been at a Chinese-only school and the chances of her being allowed to get a job outside of Chinatown are questionable. And though the practice was starting to fall out of favor, she probably would have been foot-bound at a young age.

The segregation and racism did exist, probably in an even more blatant form than portrayed here. The Geary Act, originally passed in 1882 and renewed indefinitely in 1904, prevented any Chinese from immigrating legally to the United States and those already here were barred from naturalized citizenship (meaning Ru probably came to California before the ban but would have been disenfranchised once he remained). Several political movements in San Francisco, including the Sandlotters and The Japanese-Korean Exclusion League, were founded purely on anti-Asian platforms and sought to bar any Asian immigrant from finding work outside of Chinatown or Japantown.

With the usual economic opportunities barred to them, many Chinese turned to less-legal and more lucrative trades in smuggling immigrants, prostitution and drug trafficking. Reaching nearly Mafia-like proportions, the Chinese tongs probably could have given Al Capone a run for his money.

Things did get better. The Geary Act was finally rescinded in 1943. Laws barring interracial marriage were overturned. And though the 1906 earthquake and fire were devastating, they did finally force San Francisco politicians to acknowledge the important business base the Chinese community provided and permit them to rebuild better housing and developments in the same area where the first Chinatown burnt.

This isn't the whole story, of course. For that, you'd need someone who knows a lot more about American history than I do. But if you're interested in this time period, I highly recommend the following websites (substituting "." where every "dot" is, for ff.net formatting shall not defeat me!):

For San Francisco history and culture, check out the Museum of the City of San Francisco, an excellent collection of primary and secondary sources. _www dot sfmuseum dot org_

_www dot costumes dot org/classes/fashiondress/TurnoftheCentury dot htm_ provided great examples of historical clothing. Gertrude's black and grey reform dress and the aesthetic dress worn by Abelone at the dinner party can be found by scrolling down the page.

Also for clothing, the Charles Worth collection at the Museum of the City of New York inspired both Paige's and Gertrude's evening wear. You can see the dresses by following the Collections link at _www dot mcny dot org/_

One lesson learned over the course of this story is that figuring out the mechanics of time travel is a pain in the butt. But if you're possessed by the urge to use it in a story (to which I say "No! For the sake of your sanity and all that's good and true, don't do it!"), I suggest using _freespace dot virgin dot net/steve dot preston/_. There's a _Doctor Who_ bias there, but it's got a pretty good explanation of time travel for the layperson.

Okay, folks, that's all for the history lesson. Class dismissed.

-Irena


End file.
